“He is rough, a woodsman,” I defended, “yet not unkind to me. You will speak him fair?”
He laughed, his eyes sparkling with merriment.
“No fear of my neglecting all courtesy, for I come beseeching a favor. I have learned the lesson of when the soft speech wins more than the iron hand. And this other, the Commissaire Cassion––is he a bird of the same plumage?”
I made a little gesture, and glanced back at the closed door.
“Oh, no; he is the court courtier, to stab with words, not deeds. Chevet is rough of speech, and hard of hand, but he fights in the open; Cassion has a double tongue, and one never knows him.” I glanced up into his sobered face. “He is a friend of La Barre.”
“So ’tis said, and has been chosen by the governor to bear message to De Baugis in the Illinois country. I seek passage in his company.”
“You! I thought you were of the party of Sieur de la Salle?”
“I am,” he answered honestly, “yet Cassion will need a guide, and there is none save myself in all New France who has ever made that journey. ’Twill be well for him to listen to my plan. And why not? We do not fight the orders of the governor: we obey, and wait. Monsieur de la Salle will tell his story to the King.”
“The King! to Louis?”