St. Luc frowned and then laughed.
"For that I am sorry," he said. "I would have controlled the Ojibway if I could, but he is an unmitigated savage. He left me, and did what he chose. I hope you do not hold me responsible for any attacks he may have made upon you, Mr. Lennox."
"Not at all, Monsieur, but as you see, we have survived everything and have taken no hurt. Quebec also, a great and splendid city, was not without stirring event, not to say danger."
"But not to heralds, for such I take you and Mr. Willet and Tayoga to have been."
"A certain Pierre Boucher, a great duelist, and if you will pardon me for saying it, a ruthless bravo, also was disposed to make trouble for us."
"I know Boucher. He is what you say. But since you are here safe and unhurt, as you have just reminded me, you escaped all the snares he set for you."
"True, Monsieur de St. Luc, but we have the word that the fowler may fall into his own snare."
"Your meaning escapes me."
"Boucher, the duelist and bravo, will never make trouble for anybody else."
"You imply that he is dead? Boucher dead! How did he die?"