Outside the forge, when at last I came to it, stood waiting two horses, while another was inside being shod. The acrid smell of the searing iron upon the hoof awoke in my breast a throng of boyish memories, which, however, I had not time to note and discriminate between; for the owners of the two horses hailed and stopped me. They were men of the out-settlements, whom I knew but well enough to pass the weather with. Yet I saw it in their eyes that they had heard something of my arrival. Question hung upon their lips. I gave them no time for it, but with as little patience as consisted with civility I hastened into the forge and seized the hand of the smith, my old friend and my true friend, Nicole Brun. “Master Paul!” he cried, in a voice which meant a thousand welcomes; and stood gripping my fingers, and searching me with his eyes, while the iron in his other hand slowly faded from pink to purple. “Well,” I laughed presently, “there is one man in Grand Pré, I perceive, who is merely glad to greet me home, and not too deeply troubled over the reasons for my coming.” “Hein! You’ve seen it and heard it already,” said Nicole, releasing my fingers from his knotty grasp, and throwing back his thick shoulders with a significant shrug. “Mother Pêche told me last night of your coming; and last night, too, the Black Abbé passed this way. The town is all of a buzz with reasons, this way and that. And some there be that are for you, but more that fear you, Master Paul.” “Fear me?” I asked, incredulous. “Along of the Black Abbé and Vaurin!” answered Nicole, as if explaining everything. “That Vaurin—curse him!” I exclaimed angrily. “But what say _you_, Nicole? I give you my word, as I have told every one, I come to Grand Pré on my own private business, and mix not at all with public matters.” “So?” said he, lifting his shaggy eyebrows in plain surprise. “But in any case it had been all the same to me. I’m a quiet man, and bide me here, taking no part but to forge an honest shoe for the beast of friend or foe; but I’m _your_ man, Master Paul, through thick and thin, as my father was your father’s. ‘Tis a hard thing to decide, these days, what with Halifax and the English governor pulling one way, Quebec and the Black Abbé pulling the other, and his reverence’s red devils up to Lord knows what! But I follow you, Master Paul, come what may! I’m ready.” I laid my hand laughingly on his shoulder, and thanked him. “I believe you, my friend,” said I. “And there’s no man I trust more. But I’ve no lead to set you just now. Be true to France, in all openness, and lend no ear to treachery, is all I say. I am the king’s man, heart and soul; but the English are a fair foe, and to be fought with fair weapons, say I, or not at all.” “Right you are, Master Paul,” grunted Nicole in hearty approval. There was a triumphant grin on his square and sooty face, which I marked with a passing wonder.