Obey at once!"
Tayoga obediently took the sharpened stick and began to fry strips of
venison. Robert, the canteens over his shoulder, found a spring near
by and refilled them. Like Tayoga, the raw chill of the morning and
the desolate forest of winter had no effect upon him. He too, was
happy, uplifted, and he sang to himself the song he had heard De
Galissonniere sing:
"Hier sur le pont d'Avignon
J'ai oui chanter la belle,
Lon, la,
J'ai oui chanter la belle,
Elle chantait d'un ton si doux
Comme une demoiselle,
Lon, la,
Comme une demoiselle."
All that seemed far away now, yet the words of the song brought it
back, and his extraordinary imagination made the scenes at Bigot's
ball pass before his eyes again, almost as vivid as reality. Once more
he saw the Intendant, his portly figure swaying in the dance, his red
face beaming, and once more he beheld the fiery duel in the garden
when the hunter dealt with Boucher, the bully and bravo.
Quebec was far away. He had been glad to go to it, and he had been
glad to come away, too. He would be glad to go to it again, and he
felt that he would do so some day, though the torrent of battle now
rolled between.
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