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We had batteries in the Sault-au-Matelot on Palace Hill, on Mount Carmel, before the Jesuits' college, in the Lower Town and everywhere. Three-quarters of a century ago did I say? No, it was yesterday! I remember how we fought. Frontenac was a great man as Montcalm is!" "Peace, M. de Chatillard," said Father Drouillard soothingly. "You speak of old, old times and old, old things!"
You increase too fast in the south. You thrive in your towns and in the woods, and you send greater and greater numbers against us. But you cannot take Quebec. The capital of New France is inviolate." Willet said nothing. How could he argue with a man past ninety who lay upon his dying bed? "You cannot take Quebec," repeated M. de Chatillard, rising, strength showing in his voice.
The bodies of all the fallen warriors were buried the next day, and decent burial was also given to Jumonville. But that of the Seigneur de Chatillard was still lying in state when Willet and the rangers left. "If you wish," said the hunter to Father Drouillard, "I can procure you a pass through our lines, and you can return that way to the city. We don't make war on priests."
The old man raised his head a little, and looked at him long with hawk's eyes. Robert felt that intent gaze cutting into him, but he did not move. Then the Seigneur Louis Henri Anatole de Chatillard laughed scornfully and said to Father Drouillard: "Why do you deceive me, Father?
Once they revisited the Château de Chatillard, and found the life there going on peacefully within the English lines. Father Drouillard had returned to Quebec. Another shade of color was added to the leaves and then Robert saw a great movement in Wolfe's camp before the Montmorency. The whole army seemed to be leaving the position and to be going on board the fleet.
The firing was succeeded by a few minutes of intense silence and then the great door of the Château de Chatillard opened again. Once more Father Drouillard stood on the step, holding a lamp in his hand. "It is over, Father," said Willet. "We've driven off part of 'em and the others lie here."
He saw that the old siege of Quebec was much more in M. de Chatillard's mind than the present one, and if he could pass away in the odor of triumph the hunter would not willingly change it. "Who is the youth who stands near you?" said M. de Chatillard, looking at Robert. "He is Robert Lennox of the Province of New York," replied Father Drouillard, speaking for Willet.
Why do you tell me that is one, Robert Lennox, a youth of the Bostonnais, who stands before me, when my own eyes tell me that it is the Chevalier Raymond Louis de St. Luc, come as befits a soldier of France to say farewell to an old man before he dies." Robert felt an extraordinary thrill of emotion. M. de Chatillard, seeing with the eyes of the past, had taken him for the Chevalier. But why?
"Tandakora fights nominally under the flag of France, but as you know, Father, he fights chiefly to gratify his own cruel desires." "I know it too well. Come inside. M. de Chatillard wishes to see you." Willet, Robert, Tayoga and Zeb Crane went in, and were shown into the bedroom where the Seigneur Louis Henri Anatole de Chatillard, past ninety years of age, lay upon his last bed.
That was a life to live, and, if Quebec were going to fall, it was well that M. de Chatillard with his more than ninety years should cease to live, before the sun of France set in North America. Yes, Willet was right. A long time passed and Tayoga, lying down with his ear to the earth, was listening. It was so dark now that hearing, not sight, must tell when Tandakora came.
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