This time he answered.
"Bonaparte is a great soldier."
"Is he a white man or an Indian?"
"He is a Frenchman."
I meditated on the Frenchmen I dimly remembered about St. Regis. They were undersized fellows, very apt to weep when their emotions were stirred. I could whip them all.
"Did he ever come to St. Regis?"
The chief again grunted.
"Does France come to St. Regis?" he retorted with an impatient question.
"What is France, father?"
"A country."