Black Robe bent forward sternly.
"Do not relent, my son," he said to Le Moyne. "The man is dangerous—his companions, too."
"You have heard my decision, father," answered the officer.
I regarded the priest curiously.
"Why do you dislike me?" I asked. "We are on opposite sides, 'tis true, but I have always fought you fair—and once I saved your life."
This was no less than truth, for on a certain occasion, which has nothing to do with this story, the Iroquois would cheerfully have burned Père Hyacinthe but for my strenuous objection. He was in no ways grateful at the time, I am bound to admit, and he did not exhibit gratitude now, as he towered over the camp-fire.
"Poor worm that squirms itself into the path of destiny!" he said harshly. "There is no question of fair fighting or foul fighting betwixt us, nor of gratitude or ingratitude. You serve Anti-Christ. I serve the Heavenly Father. At no place do we touch. We have no interests in common. If you did well, doubt not Holy Peter has recorded the deed for you in his record book. But who are you to prate of good deeds when your soul is steeped in the darkness of heresy, and your eyes are clouded by English lies? Think, rather, on your sins, and it may be you will see light before it is too late."
He turned to Le Moyne.
"My son, I am leaving you now. There is a village of the Ouabaches some miles hence where I have preached the Word. I visit them and will rejoin you at Vincennes."
He turned on his heel and strode off.