"The French count gave you the hand of friendship, but not the spirit of it," said Tayoga, who had not spoken at all while they were at the dueling ground. "He was grateful to you for sparing his life, but his gratitude will go like the wind, and then he will hate you. And he will have the powerful friends, of whom the captain spoke, to plot against you and us."
"That's so, Tayoga," said the hunter, gravely, "I'm sorry the Governor General wasn't here when we arrived. It was an unlucky chance, because it would have been better for us to have given him our letters and have departed at once."
Robert, in his heart, knew that it was true, and that dangers would soon cluster about them, but he was willing to linger. The spell of Quebec had grown stronger, and he had made an entrance into its world in most gallant fashion, sword in hand, like a young knight, and that would appeal to the warlike French.
They deemed it wise to stay in the inn for a while, but two or three hours later Willet went out, returning soon, and showing some excitement.
"An old friend has come," he said.
"A friend!" said Robert. "I know of no friend to expect."
"I used the word 'friend' in exactly the opposite sense. It's an enemy.
I'm quite sure nobody in the world hates us more."
"Tandakora!"
"None other. It's the sanguinary Ojibway, his very self. I saw him stalking along the streets of Quebec in the most hideous paint that man ever mixed, a walking monument of savage pride, and I've no doubt in my mind either why he came here."
"To get some sort of revenge upon us."