Hitherto I had been silent, as became a mere new-come guest; but this was too much for me. “Ay, but it shall!” said I bluntly, stepping forward. La Garne looked at me with unaffected surprise and contempt. “And pray, sir, who may you be to speak so confidently?” he asked. “I am an officer of the king, Sir Abbé,” I answered, “and a messenger of the governor of New France, and a man of my word. Your quarrel here I do not very well understand, but I beg _you_ to understand that this house is the house of my friends. I know you, Sir Abbé,—I have heard rumour of your work at Beaubassin, Baie Verte, and Gros Ile. I tell you, I will not suffer you to lift your hand against this house!” “Truly, monsieur, you speak large,” sneered the priest. “But you may, perchance, have authority. I seem to have seen your face before. Your name?” “Paul Grande,” said I, bowing. La Garne’s face changed. He looked at me curiously, and then, with a sort of bitter tolerance, shrugged his shoulders. “You have been to Monsieur le Commandant Vergor, at Beauséjour?” he asked. I bowed. “And to Vaurin, at Piziquid?” he went on thoughtfully. I fancied that a shade of suspicion passed over the faces of my hosts; and Yvonne’s face paled slightly; but I replied: “I have just come from Piziquid.” “Your authority is sufficient, then, monsieur,” said he. “The messenger of the governor to Vaurin doubtless knows his business, and it is unnecessary for me to interfere.” I bowed my thanks, holding courtesy to be in place, since I had gained my point. “And I pardon your abruptness, Monsieur Grande,” continued the Black Abbé. “We are both working for the king. We have no right to quarrel when we have such great work to do. I am sure I may accept your apology for your abruptness?” And he looked at me with an air of suggestion. I was puzzled at his changed demeanour, but I would not show myself at a loss. Still less would I apologize, or suffer any pretence of friendliness between himself and me. “I am sure you may,” said I pleasantly. And I think the reply a prudent one. Yvonne smiled—I just caught the smile; but the abbé turned on his heel. “I withdraw my admonition,” he said to De Lamourie smoothly, “and leave your case in the hands of this gentleman, your good friend. I wish you a swift conversion—or a long repentance.” And with a glance at me which I liked not, but could by no means interpret, he was gone. The room grew straightway the brighter for his going. Chapter VI A New England Englishman