"Ma foi! That you lose the game," was the reply. "Callieres, the
governor of Montreal, with his Canadians, and Nicholas Perrot with his
coureurs du bois have arrived. You have too much delay, monsieur."
In Quebec, when this contingent arrived, the people went wild. And
Perrot was never prouder than when, in Mountain Street, Iberville, after
three years' absence, threw his arms round him and kissed him on each
cheek.
It was in the dark hour before daybreak that Iberville and Perrot met for
their first talk after the long separation. What had occurred on the day
of Jessica's marriage Perrot had, with the Abbe de Casson's help,
written to Iberville. But they had had no words together. Now, in a
room of the citadel which looked out on the darkness of the river and the
deeper gloom of the Levis shore, they sat and talked, a single candle
burning, their weapons laid on the table between them.
They said little at first, but sat in the window looking down on the town
and the river. At last Iberville spoke. "Tell me it all as you remember
it, Perrot." Perrot, usually swift of speech when once started, was
very slow now.
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