“But madame and Starling?”

“I demanded them of Pemaou, and he made no objection.”

“He made no conditions?”

“No.”

I frowned at that and thought it over.

“What do you make of it?” Cadillac questioned.

But I could only say I did not know.  “Pemaou is skillful about using us as his jailers,” I went on.  “That may be his object now.  He evidently finds some opposition in the Huron camp, or you would have had massacre before this.”

“You think the Senecas are here for conquest?”

“From all I could overhear, they are here to look over the situation and exchange peace belts with the Hurons.  If they can command a sufficient force, they will fall on us now; if not, they will rejoin the main camp and come to us later.”

Cadillac fingered his sword.  “It is rather desperate,” he said quietly, and he smiled.  “But we are not conquered yet.  We shall have some scalps first.”

I shook my head.  “Your sword is ever too uneasy.  We may hold off an outbreak.  They have been here three days, and they have not dared act.  You wish to call a council?”

“If you will interpret.”

“Give me a day first to see what I can learn.  I shall be out at daybreak.  What does Starling say?”

“He talks of nothing but safe conduct home.  He sticks to his tale well.  He is a simple-hearted, suffering man who has found his cousin and whose mission is over.  He is grateful for our hospitality, he is grateful to you, he is grateful to everybody.  How much shall we believe?”

“Not more than is necessary.”

“Montlivet, be frank.  What do you make of the man?”

I looked down.  “He is a compelling man.  He has a hero’s frame.”

“I am not blind.  I asked what the frame housed.”

With hate in my throat I tried to speak justly.  “He has an intelligent mind, but a coward’s spirit.  I think the two elements war in him ceaselessly.  I would not trust him, monsieur.  Is he on friendly terms with Pemaou now?”

“I do not know.”

“I wish you would find out for me.  You have agents.”

“Madame de Montlivet could tell you.”

I felt Cadillac’s eyes.  “I shall not question Madame de Montlivet about her cousin.”

Perhaps my tone was weary.  It is hard to hold up a shield night and day.  I was conscious that Cadillac’s look altered.  He withdrew his glance; he pushed a hand toward me.

“It is a shame, Montlivet.”

“Shall we let it go without discussion, monsieur?”

“No.  Montlivet, you are more a fool than any man I ever knew.  You have more strained ideas.  You are preposterous.  You belong to the Middle Ages.  Every one says so.  Let me speak.”

“Not about my marriage, monsieur.”

“Why not?  I am responsible.  I let you saddle yourself with the situation.  You did it partly to save me.  You are always doing some crack-brained thing like that.  I tell you, you are more a fool than I ever knew.  Perhaps that is the reason that we all went into mourning when we thought the Iroquois had you.”