"The commandant wishes you," he went on. "He
asked me to fetch you. I should not have complied--it is I who should
ask services of him--but I wished to speak to you on my own account.
Monsieur, do you know these men that you have in your employ?"
I nodded. "As well as I know my own heart. They are my habitants."
"Your habitants! Then you have a seigniory? Why do you not stay there
as the king wishes?"
I shook my head at him. "We use large words in this new land, father.
Yes, I have a seigniory. That is, I own some barren acres near
Montreal that I can occupy only at risk of my scalp. As to the king, I
think he wishes me to trade,--at least I carry his license to that
effect. But what are my men doing?"
The Jesuit's thin old hands clutched each other. "They are turning
this place into a Sodom," he said passionately. "They are drinking and
carousing with the Indian women. You traders are our ruin. But we
will shut you out of the country yet. Mark my words. Those
twenty-five licenses will be revoked before the season ends, and you
will have to find other excuses to bring your rabble here to debauch
our missions."
In view of what I had just seen, I felt impatient.
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