Sir Arthur once more looked about him. Motioning to the others of the party to remain outside the gate, Law led him within the stockade. On one hand stood Pierre Noir, tall, silent, impassive as a savage, leaning upon his gun and fixing on the red coat of the English uniform an eye none too friendly. Jean Breboeuf, his piece half ready and his voluble tongue half on the point of breaking over restraint, Law quieted with a gesture. Back of these, ranged in a silent yet watchful group, their weapons well in hand, stood numbers of the savage allies of this new war-lord. Pembroke turned to Law again.
"You are strongly stationed, sir; but I do not understand."
"It is my home."
"But yet—why?"
"As well this as any, where one leaves an old life and begins a new," said Law. "'Tis as good a place as any if one would leave all behind, and if he would forget."
"And this—that is to say—madam?"
Sir Arthur stumbled in his speech. John Law looked him straight in the eye, a slow, sad smile upon his face.
"Had we here the plank of poor La Salle his ship," said he, "we might nail the message of that other renegade above our door—'Nous sommes tous sauvages!'"