"Yes, it is a wonderful country. It is not France; it is better than the mother country. Ambition has a finer aim; charity is without speculation; and a man must be a man here, else he can not exist."
"That is an illusion," replied the vicomte. "Only the women have what you call a finer ambition. The men are puling as in France. The Company seeks riches without working; the military seek batons without war; and these Jesuits … Bah! What are they trying to do? To rule the pope, and through him, the world. My faith, I can barely keep from laughing at some of the stories these priests tell all in good faith."
"My thought did not include the great," said the Chevalier, quietly. "I meant the lower orders. They will eventually become men and women in the highest sense. There is no time for dalliance and play; labor is the monitor best suited to hold back, to trim and regulate a man's morals and habits. There is no idleness here, Vicomte."
"I do not know but you are right."
"Shall you remain here long?" asked the Chevalier.
"Who can say? I would return to France on the next boat were my neck less delicately attached to my shoulders. Let us say six months; it will have quieted down by then. Devil take me, but I should like to feel that paper crackling between my fingers. And you meet D'Hérouville in two days?"
"In two days."
"Will you not join me in a glass of the governor's old burgundy as a toast to your success?"
"Thank you, but I am on duty. They are bringing some Mohawks up from the lower town, and I am to take charge of them."
"Good luck to you;" and the vicomte waved a friendly hand as he started off toward the citadel.