I put up the paper.  “Thank you,” I said.  “And now.  Monsieur Starling, we will say good-by.  I am only a chance wayfarer here, and leave in an hour.  I cannot wish you success, since you are my foe, but I can wish you a safe return to your own kind.  I hope that we shall meet again.  When I am dealing with a foe that I respect, I prefer him with his hands unbound.  Good-day, monsieur.”

But he was before me at the door.  I saw that my news troubled him.

“You mean,” he asked, “that you are leaving here for several days?”

I laid my hand on the latch.  “No,” I answered.  “I leave for several months, monsieur.”

“For months!  Oh no!” he cried, and he drew back and looked at me.  “Then I am like never to see you again,” he said thoughtfully.  “You have been kind to me.”  He suddenly thrust out his hand.  “Monsieur, I will be more generous than you.  I wish you success.”

But I would not take his hand on those terms.

“Don’t!” I said roughly.  “You cannot wish me success.  It will mean failure to you—­to your people.  No, we are foes, and let us wear our colors honestly.  Again, I wish you good-day,” and, bowing, I raised the latch, and made my way out of the commandant’s door.

CHAPTER IV

IN THE OTTAWA CAMP

Chance was disposed to be in a good humor.  I had scarcely stepped into the crowd when I saw Pierre.

I went to him knowing that I should find opportunity for reproof, but should probably lack the will.  For Pierre was my harlequin, and what man can easily censure his own amusements even when he sees their harm?  Then there was more to make me lenient.  The man’s family had served my own for as many generations as the rooks had builded in our yews, and so, on one side at least, he inherited blind loyalty to my name.  I say on one side, for his blood was mixed; his father had married a vagrant, a half-gypsy Irish girl who begged among the villages.  It was the union of a stolid ox and a wildcat, and I had much amusement watching the two breeds fight for the mastery in the huge Pierre.  The cat was quicker of wit, but the ox was of more use to me in the long run, so I tried to keep an excess of stimulants—­whether of brandy or adventure—­out of Pierre’s way.

He was a figure for Bacchus when I found him, and I pricked at him with my sword, and drove him to the water, where I saw him well immersed.

“Now for quick work,” I admonished.  “I must see the commandant, but only for a moment.  You gather the men, and have the canoes in waiting.  There will be no tobacco for you to-night, if you are not ready when I come.”

He shook the water from his red locks, and wagged his head in much more docile fashion than I had expected.  “My master cannot go too fast for me,” he said, with a twist of his great protruding lip.  “I have no liking for white meat broth myself.”