"So I infer, from the valuable days you have spent trying to bring that result about."
"Your majesty is sure of finding support in France."
"The last king liked to tinker with clocks. Perhaps I like to tinker with Indians."
"Sire, it is due to your birth—"
"Never mind my birth," I said. "I'm busy with my life."
He bowed himself out of my presence without turning. This tribute to royalty should have touched me. He took a handsome adieu, and did not afterward seek further reward for his service. I heard in the course of years that he died in New Orleans, confessing much regarding myself to people who cared nothing about it, and thought him crazy. They doubtless had reason, so erratic was the wanderer whom I had first consciously seen through Lake George fog. His behavior was no more incredible than the behavior of other Frenchmen who put a hand to the earlier years of their prince's life.
The third to appear at my tent door was Chief Williams, himself. The surgeon told him outside the tent that it was a dangerous wound. He had little hope for me, and I had indifferent hope myself, lying in torpor and finding it an effort to speak. But after several days of effort I did speak.
The chief sat beside me, concerned and silent.
"Father," I said.
The chief harkened near to my lips.