“But the insult! He has drawn blood with the goblet,” said Deschenaux, wiping his forehead with his fingers; “I cannot pardon that!” “Tut, tut; fight him another day. But you shall not fight here! Cadet and Le Mercier have pinned the young Bayard, I see; so you have a chance to do the honorable; Deschenaux; go to him, retract the toast, and say you had forgotten the fair lady was his sister.” Deschenaux swallowed his wrath, rose up, and sheathed his sword. Taking the Intendant by the arm, he went up to Le Gardeur, who was still trying to advance. Deschenaux held up his hand deprecatingly. “Le Gardeur,” said he, with an air of apparent contrition, “I was wrong to offer that toast. I had forgotten the fair lady was your sister. I retract the toast, since it is disagreeable to you, although all would have been proud to drink it.” Le Gardeur was as hard to appease as he was easy to excite to anger. He still held his drawn sword in his hand. “Come!” cried Bigot, “you are as hard to please as Villiers Vendôme, whom the King himself could not satisfy. Deschenaux says he is sorry. A gentleman cannot say more; so shake hands and be friends, De Repentigny.” Impervious to threats, and often to reason, Le Gardeur could not resist an appeal to his generosity. He sheathed his sword, and held out his hand with frank forgiveness. “Your apology is ample, Sieur Deschenaux. I am satisfied you meant no affront to my sister! It is my weak point, messieurs,” continued he, looking firmly at the company, ready to break out had he detected the shadow of a sneer upon any one's countenance. “I honor her as I do the queen of heaven. Neither of their names ought to be spoken here.” “Well said! Le Gardeur,” exclaimed the Intendant. “That's right, shake hands, and be friends again. Blessed are quarrels that lead to reconciliation and the washing out of feuds in wine. Take your seats, gentlemen.” There was a general scramble back to the table. Bigot stood up in renewed force. “Valets!” cried he, “bring in now the largest cups! We will drink a toast five fathoms deep, in water of life strong enough to melt Cleopatra's pearls, and to a jollier dame than Egypt's queen. But first we will make Le Gardeur de Repentigny free of the guild of noble partners of the company of adventurers trading in New France.” The valets flew in and out. In a few moments the table was replenished with huge drinking-cups, silver flagons, and all the heavy impedimenta of the army of Bacchus. “You are willing to become one of us, and enter the jolly guild of the Grand Company?” exclaimed the Intendant, taking Le Gardeur by the hand. “Yes, I am a stranger, and you may take me in. I claim admission,” replied Le Gardeur with drunken gravity, “and by St. Pigot! I will be true to the guild!” Bigot kissed him on both cheeks. “By the boot of St. Benoit! you speak like the King of Yvetot. Le Gardeur de Repentigny, you are fit to wear fur in the Court of Burgundy.”