"This
Indian is accompanied by Fathers Chaumonot and Jacques. It is not
impossible that they have relieved La Chaudiere Noire of his tomahawk
and scalping-knife. And besides, this is France; even a Turk is
harmless here. Monsieur the Black Kettle speaks French and is a devout
Catholic."
"A Catholic?" incredulously.
"Aye, pious and abstemious," with a sly glance at the innkeeper, who
was known to love his wines in proportion to his praise of them.
"The patience of these Jesuits!" the host murmured, breathing a long
sigh, such as one does from whose shoulders a weight has been suddenly
lifted. "Ah, Messieurs, but your joke frightened me cruelly. And they
call him the Black Kettle? But perhaps they will stay at the episcopal
palace, that is, if the host from Dieppe arrives to-night. And who
taught him French?"
"Father Chaumonot, who knows his Indian as a Turk knows his Koran."
"And does his Majesty intend to make Frenchmen of these savages?"
"They are already Frenchmen," was the answer. "There remains only to
teach them how to speak and pray like Frenchmen."
"And he will be quiet and docile?" ventured the inn-keeper, who still
entertained some doubts.
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