When the valet returned with the wine and the livres, he placed three

chairs within easy distance of the marquis, and waited to learn what

further orders his master had in mind.

The marquis opened his eyes. "When Messieurs the Jesuits come, show

them in at once. The hypocrites come on a begging errand. After I

have humiliated them, I shall give them money, and they will say,

'Absolvo te.' It is simple. And they will promise to pray for the

repose of my soul when I am dead. My faith, how easy it is to gain

Heaven! A thousand livres, a prayer mumbled in Latin, and look! Heaven

is for the going. The thief and the murderer, the fool and the wise

man, the rich and the beggared, how they must jostle one another in the

matter of precedence! Poor Lucifer! Who will lend Lucifer a thousand

livres and an 'Absolvo te'?"

Jehan crossed himself, for he was a pious Catholic.

"Hypocrite!" snarled the marquis; "Have I not forbidden you this

mummery in my presence? Begone!"

The Swiss clock on the mantel had chimed the first quarter after eight

ere the marquis was again disturbed. He turned in his seat to witness

the entrance of his unwelcome guests. He smiled, but not pleasantly.

"Be seated, Messieurs," he said, waving his hand toward the chairs, and

eying the Iroquois with that curiosity with which one eyes a new

species of animal. Next his gaze fell upon Brother Jacques, whose

look, burning and intense, aroused a sense of impatience in the

marquis's breast. "Monsieur," he said peevishly, "have not the women

told you that you are too handsome for a priest?"

"If so, Monsieur," imperturbably, "I have not heard." And while a

shade of color grew in his cheeks, Brother Jacques's look was calm and

undisturbed.

"And you are Father Chaumonot?" said the marquis turning to the elder.

His glance discovered a finely modeled head, a high benevolent brow,

eyes mild and intelligent, a face marred neither by greed nor by

cunning; not handsome, rather plain, but wholesome, amiable, and with a

touch of those human qualities which go toward making a man whole.

There was even a suspicion of humor in the fine wrinkles gathered

around the eyes. The marquis pictured this religious pioneer in the

garb of a soldier. "You would be a man but for that robe," he said,

when his scrutiny was brought to an end.

"I pray God that I may be a man for it."

The marquis laughed. He loved a man of quick reply. "What do you call

him?" indicating the Indian, whose dark eyes were constantly roving.

"The Black Kettle is his Indian name; but I have baptized him as

Dominique."

"Tell him for me that he is a man."




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