The governor drew himself up proudly. He had sniffed the air of battle for over fifty years with all manner of enemies, and his heart was in the thing. Never had there been in Quebec a more moving sight than when he arrived from Montreal the evening before, and climbed Mountain Street on his way to the chateau. Women and children pressed round him, blessing him; priests, as he passed, lifted hands in benediction; men cheered and cried for joy; in every house there was thanksgiving that the imperious old veteran had come in time. Prevost the town mayor, Champigny the Intendant, Sainte-Helene, Maricourt, and Longueil, had worked with the skill of soldiers who knew their duty, and it was incredible what had been done since the alarm had come to Prevost that Phips had entered the St. Lawrence and was anchored at Tadousac. “And how came you to be here, Iberville?” queried the governor pleasantly. “We scarce expected you.” “The promptings of the saints and the happy kindness of King Louis, who will send my ship here after me. I boarded the first merchantman with its nose to the sea, and landed here soon after you left for Montreal.” “So? Good! See you, see you, Iberville: what of the lady Puritan’s marriage with the fire-eating Englishman?” The governor smiled as he spoke, not looking at Iberville. His glance was upon the batteries in lower town. He had inquired carelessly, for he did not think the question serious at this distance of time. Getting no answer, he turned smartly upon Iberville, surprised, and he was struck by the sudden hardness in the sun-browned face and the flashing eyes. Years had deepened the power of face and form. “Your excellency will remember,” he answered, in a low, cold tone, “that I once was counselled to marry the sword.” The governor laid his hand upon Iberville’s shoulder. “Pardon me,” he said. “I was not wise or kind. But--I warrant the sword will be your best wife in the end.” “I have a favour to ask, your excellency.” “You might ask many, my Iberville. If all gentlemen here, clerics and laymen, asked as few as you, my life would be peaceful. Your services have been great, one way and another. Ask, and I almost promise now. “‘Tis this. Six months ago you had a prisoner here, captured on the New England border. After he was exchanged you found that he had sent a plan of the fortifications to the Government of Massachusetts. He passed in the name of George Escott. Do you remember?” “Very well indeed.” “Suppose he were taken prisoner again?” “I should try him.” “And shoot him, if guilty?” “Or hang him.” “His name was not Escott. It was Gering--Captain George Gering.” The governor looked hard at Iberville for a moment, and a grim smile played upon his lips. “H’m! How do you guess that?” “From Perrot, who knows him well.” “Why did Perrot not tell me?”