They saw open fields, stone fences, and the heavy grapes hanging in the vineyards, instead of the huge rivers, the vast lakes and the mighty wilderness that curved almost to their feet.

But it was only for a moment.

This was Quebec, the seat of the French power in America, and they were in the Intendant's palace, the very core and heart of it.

The laughter that had been hushed for a thoughtful instant or two came back in full tide, and once more the Chevalier Pierre Boucher spoke to Robert.
"The songs of our France are beautiful," he said.

"None other have in them so much of poetry and haunting lament." The youth detected as before the challenging under note in a remark that otherwise would have seemed irrelevant, and an angry contradiction leaped swiftly to his lips, but with the recollection of Willet's warning look he restrained himself again.
"France has many beautiful things," he replied quietly.
"Well spoken, Mr.Lennox! A compliment to us from one of another race is worth having," said de Courcelles.