They were served by an attentive and quiet waiter, and the three, each in his own way, watched everything that was going on.  They were aware that not all would be as friendly as de Galisonniere or Father Drouillard, but they were fully prepared to meet a challenge of any kind and uphold the honor of their own people.  Robert was hoping that de Galisonniere might come, as he had recommended the inn to them.  He did not appear, but the others who did so lingered and young Lennox knew that it was because of the three, who received many hostile glances, although most were intended for the Onondaga.  Robert was aware, too, that if the Iroquois had lost this Stadacona of the Mohawks and had been ravaged by Frontenac, they had taken a terrible revenge upon the French and their chief allies, the Hurons.  For generations the Hodenosaunee had swept the villages along the St. Lawrence with fire and tomahawk, slaying and capturing their hundreds.  But to Tayoga it was and always would be the French who had struck first, and the vital fact remained that they lived upon land upon which the Iroquois themselves had once lived, no man knew how long.

Robert saw that the looks were growing more menacing, although the good Monsieur Berryer glided among his guests, and counseled caution.

“Take no notice,” said Willet in a low tone.  “The French are polite, and although they may not like us they will not molest us.”

Robert followed his advice.  Apparently he had no thought except for his food, which was delicate, but his ears did not miss any sound that could reach them.  He understood French well, and he caught several whispers that made the red come to his cheeks.  Doubtless they thought he could not speak their language or they would have been more careful.

Half way through the dinner and the door was thrown open, admitting a gorgeous figure and a great gust of words.  It was a young man in a brilliant uniform, his hair long, perfumed, powdered and curled, and his face flushed.  Robert recognized him at once as that same Count Jean de Mezy who had passed them in the flying carriage.  Behind came two officers of about the same age, but of lower rank, seeking his favor and giving him adulation.

His roving eye traveled around the room, and, resting upon the three guests, became inflamed.

“Ah, Nemours, and you, Le Moyne,” he said, “look there and behold the two Bostonnais and the Iroquois of whom we have heard, sitting here in our own Inn of the Eagle!”

“But there is no war, not as yet,” said Nemours, although he spoke in an obsequious tone.

“But it will come,” said de Mezy loudly, “and then, gentlemen, this lordly Quebec of ours, which has known many English captives, will hold multitudes of them.”

There were cries of “Silence!” “Not so loud!”

“Don’t insult guests!” but de Mezy merely laughed and said:  “They don’t understand!  The slow-witted English never know any tongue but their own.”