What man in Canada did not remember that handful of men, going out with an antique courage to hold back the Iroquois, and save the colony, and die? Perrot grasped Iberville's hand, and said: "Where you go, I go. Where I go, my men will follow." Their pact was made. They sat there in silence till the grey light of morning crept slowly in. Still they did not lie down to rest; they were waiting for De Casson. He came before a ray of sunshine had pierced the leaden light. Tall, massive, proudly built, his white hair a rim about his forehead, his deep eyes watchful and piercing, he looked a soldier in disguise, as indeed he was to-day as much a soldier as when he fought under Turenne forty years before. The three comrades were together again. Iberville told his plans. The abbe lifted his fingers in admonition once or twice, but his eyes flashed as Iberville spoke of an attempt to capture the admiral on his own ship. When Iberville had finished, he said in a low voice: "Pierre, must it still be so--that the woman shall prompt you to these things?" "I have spoken of no woman, abbe." "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!