"You needn't expect any trouble from the authorities," said de Galisonniere, when they sat once more in the great room at the inn. "Dueling is of course frowned upon theoretically, but it's a common practice, and since no life has been lost, not even any wound inflicted, you'll hear nothing of it from the government. And de Mezy, I imagine, will say as little about it as possible. He rather fancies himself as a swordsman, and he will not want everybody in Quebec to know that he was defeated and disarmed by a boy. Still, it will spread." He and Glandelet took a courteous leave, and Robert thanked them for their services. He liked them both, especially de Galisonniere, and he was sorry that fate should put them on opposing sides in the war that all of them felt was surely coming. "The French count gave you the hand of friendship, but not the spirit of it," said Tayoga, who had not spoken at all while they were at the dueling ground. "He was grateful to you for sparing his life, but his gratitude will go like the wind, and then he will hate you. And he will have the powerful friends, of whom the captain spoke, to plot against you and us." "That's so, Tayoga," said the hunter, gravely, "I'm sorry the Governor General wasn't here when we arrived. It was an unlucky chance, because it would have been better for us to have given him our letters and have departed at once." Robert, in his heart, knew that it was true, and that dangers would soon cluster about them, but he was willing to linger. The spell of Quebec had grown stronger, and he had made an entrance into its world in most gallant fashion, sword in hand, like a young knight, and that would appeal to the warlike French. They deemed it wise to stay in the inn for a while, but two or three hours later Willet went out, returning soon, and showing some excitement. "An old friend has come," he said. "A friend!" said Robert. "I know of no friend to expect." "I used the word 'friend' in exactly the opposite sense. It's an enemy. I'm quite sure nobody in the world hates us more." "Tandakora!" "None other. It's the sanguinary Ojibway, his very self. I saw him stalking along the streets of Quebec in the most hideous paint that man ever mixed, a walking monument of savage pride, and I've no doubt in my mind either why he came here." "To get some sort of revenge upon us." "That's it. He'll go before the Governor General, and charge that we attacked him in the gorge and slew good, innocent men of his." "Tandakora is cunning," said Tayoga. "The Great Bear is right. He will lie many times against us, and it is likely that the Frenchmen, de Courcelles and Jumonville, will come also and tell that they met us in the woods, although they said smooth words to us when we left them." "And we don't know what kind of a net they'll try to weave around us," said Willet. "I say again I wish we'd delivered our letters and were out of Quebec."