“Yet you have spoken.” He sighed and raised his hand. “The man--the men--down there would destroy our country. They are our enemies, and we do well to slay. But remember, Pierre--‘What God hath joined let no man put asunder!’ To fight him as an enemy of your country--well; to fight him that you may put asunder is not well.” A look, half-pained, half-amused, crossed Iberville’s face. “And yet heretics--heretics, abbe” “Marriage is no heresy.” “H’m-they say different at Versailles.” “Since De Montespan went, and De Maintenon rules?” Iberville laughed. “Well, well, perhaps not.” They sat silent for a time, but presently Iberville rose, went to a cupboard, drew forth some wine and meat, and put the coffee on the fire. Then, with a gesture as of remembrance, he went to a box, drew forth his own violin, and placed it in the priest’s hands. It seemed strange that, in the midst of such great events, the loss or keeping of an empire, these men should thus devote the few hours granted them for sleep; but they did according to their natures. The priest took the instrument and tuned it softly. Iberville blew out the candle. There was only the light of the fire, with the gleam of the slow-coming dawn. Once again, even as years before in the little house at Montreal, De Casson played--now with a martial air. At last he struck the chords of a song which had been a favourite with the Carignan-Salieres regiment. Instantly Iberville and Perrot responded, and there rang out from three strong throats the words: “There was a king of Normandy, And he rode forth to war, Gai faluron falurette! He had five hundred men-no more! Gai faluron donde! “There was a king of Normandy, Came back from war again; He brought a maid, O, fair was she! And twice five hundred men-- Gai faluron falurette! Gai faluron donde!” They were still singing when soldiers came by the window in the first warm light of sunrise. These caught it up, singing it as they marched on. It was taken up again by other companies, and by the time Iberville presented himself to Count Frontenac, not long after, there was hardly a citizen, soldier, or woodsman, but was singing it. The weather and water were blustering all that day, and Phips did not move, save for a small attempt--repulsed--by a handful of men to examine the landing. The next morning, however, the attack began. Twelve hundred men were landed at Beauport, in the mud and low water, under one Major Walley. With him was Gering, keen for action--he had persuaded Phips to allow him to fight on land.