A few minutes before the hour designated by Roberval, La Pommeraye appeared in front of the house, which had now become a kind of magnet for his feet. As a general thing his careless nature made him unpunctual, and he had not infrequently kept opponents waiting for him when he had a duel on hand. To-night, however, he hoped for a glimpse of Marguerite, and this made him prompt to keep his appointment. He scanned the windows as he passed along the opposite side of the street, but no one appeared to meet his eager gaze. With a heart palpitating like a schoolboy's, on whom some fair girl has smiled or frowned, he slowly retraced his steps to the heavy oaken door. His knock was answered by the same old servant who had admitted him in the morning, and he was shown into a large but very plainly furnished room, where De Roberval sat before a table covered with papers and charts. The walls of the room were hung with pictures of the hunt, of the battle-field, and of religious subjects—the brutality of war strangely ranged side by side with the gentle Madonna and the gentler Christ. In one corner stood a statue of Bacchus, in another was a skull and cross-bones. Trophies of the hunt were scattered here and there; and a pair of crossed swords surmounted an ivory crucifix which hung above a well-worn prie-dieu.

"Vanity and ambition," said La Pommeraye to himself as he glanced round the room.

The words well summed up De Roberval's character. He would have no man in the nation greater than himself. When the famous meeting took place at "The Field of the Cloth of Gold," between Ardres and Guines in Picardy, all the nobles made an effort to rival the splendour of their kings, Henry VIII. and Francis I., and they came to the meeting, as Martin du Bellay has said, "bearing thither their mills, their forests, and their meadows on their backs." Among them all Jean FranÇois de la Roque, Sieur de Roberval, was the most resplendent. Small in stature, he was handicapped in the use of the sword; but by patient practice he had made up for this deficiency, and had won for himself the name of the most skilled swordsman in France. This reputation he had maintained against all comers till he met the man now closeted with him. He envied the King his poetic talent, and would fain have outdone him in the art of poesy. But even with Clement Marot's help he had been utterly unable to woo the fickle muse. He had so stored his mind, however, that his sovereign, the brilliant Marguerite de Nevarre, and the master intellect of that age, Rabelais, all delighted in his society; and on account of his ability in so many directions, and his evident ambition, Francis had humorously christened him "The Little King of Vimeu." One thing rankled in his ambitious heart: king he could not be. Let him be as strong, as intellectual, as popular as he might, Francis could always look down on him from the throne.

Cartier, although a blunt seaman, had read the man's nature truly, and in endeavouring to win him to his cause, had pointed out the opportunity the New World would give him of reigning an absolute monarch over not a province, but a continent of unlimited extent and wealth. Roberval, like a fool gudgeon, caught at the bait, and had in his own mind fully decided to try the venture. But to impress them with his importance he had called De Pontbriand and La Pommeraye to this meeting to argue the matter with them, and to convince them of the sacrifice he was about to make for his country, and of his reluctance to leave old France.

Despite the vanity and ambition of the man, the enthusiasm, courage, and will that De Roberval put into anything that he undertook were admirable qualities, and as La Pommeraye stood looking into his steel-grey eyes, and admiring his smooth high forehead and finely-chiselled mouth, he felt that he was in the presence of a born leader of men.

Roberval acknowledged his greeting with a sternness of manner for which Charles was hardly prepared.

"Monsieur is welcome to my house," he said frigidly. "But why need he have taken so long to decide upon entering? I saw you," he added, fixing his keen glance on the young man, "pass twice on the other side of the street."

The words were simple enough, but the tone told La Pommeraye that there was a world of meaning in them. If he could be ready with the sword he could be equally ready with the tongue.

"Sieur de Roberval," he said, meeting the nobleman's eyes with a frank, straightforward gaze, "I am not dull-witted. I see that you have read the meaning of my action, and even though it call down your anger on my head, I will confess myself to you. Your niece was the cause of my walking past and rudely staring at your windows. I love her, and unless some more favoured suitor has already won her heart, I have vowed to prove myself worthy of her hand, if God wills it."

"Silence!" almost shouted De Roberval. "If God wills it a thousand times, it shall never be. I will oppose it. But why waste words?" he added in a quieter tone. "My niece would spurn you as she would one of Cartier's savages."

"At first, I have no doubt," returned Charles with great suavity. "But, as you say, we waste words. We are met to consult on a great undertaking, and I have told you my intentions that there may be no double-dealing between us. You know me, and you know what I have resolved to do, and if you should not wish to have me join you in this enterprise you can exclude me now. There is plenty of work, or will be soon, for my sword in France, without my taking it to a land where it will only rust in the scabbard."

Before De Roberval could make any reply, a heavy knock resounded through the house, and Cartier's voice was heard enquiring of Jean: "Is your master within?"

"Ay, that he is, Monsieur, but I doubt if he will receive you. Either the Emperor or our beloved King Francis is with him."

"What makes you think that, honest Jean?" said De Pontbriand's voice.

"Why," replied the old servant, "he spoke back to my master! I heard him with my own ears, and I thought that even the King himself would not do that."

"Well, Jean, he has promised to meet with us to-night; so, King or no King, show us to his room."

Not waiting for an answer they pushed towards the door of Roberval's room, which stood slightly ajar. Before they could knock De Roberval threw it open, exclaiming as he did so: "Welcome to our conference."

"Behold the King!" he continued, laughingly pointing to La Pommeraye. "Jean is a strange fellow. I am afraid I should have left him in Picardy; his tongue wags too much. But he is not far wrong this time. The man who could defeat De Roberval is indeed a monarch among men."

There was a steel-like ring in his voice as he spoke; Cartier and De Pontbriand looked at each other, and both wondered what fate he had in store for La Pommeraye.

"But," he continued, "we have much work before us to-night, let us settle down to it at once. I hope, Cartier, you have brought your charts with you, and you, De Pontbriand, your notes."

"We have," said the two men in chorus; "and," added Cartier, "what we have omitted La Pommeraye, who, in search of adventures, wandered about for several months in the primeval forests, will be able to supply."

The four heads were soon assiduously studying a rude map which Cartier had spread on the table. Intently they scanned it: Charles and Claude with the fond remembrance of men who had visited those distant, almost unknown, lands; Cartier with the delight of a man who had before him the continent he had claimed for his King; and Roberval with the eagerness of one who is about to venture on a mighty undertaking that may ruin his fortunes, or make him the most renowned man in his country.

The nobleman's sharp eyes noted the mighty rivers and broad gulfs, feeling that already they were his own. The vastness of the great unknown world took hold on him. The forests of Picardy were like stubble beside these unbroken stretches of wooded country; and the mightiest river of France was but as a purling brook when compared with the gigantic sweep of the river of Hochelaga, which stretched inland for unknown leagues.

Cartier had been watching his countenance, and saw that he was completely won to the enterprise; but Roberval feigned a lack of enthusiasm. He turned from the map, and with assumed indifference said: "I like not the look of the country. Woods and water, water and woods, are all you have marked on it. I prefer a land of fertile fields and civilised society."

"But, noble Sieur, you mistake. It is not all woods and water. This mighty Baie des Chaleurs teems with fish. We filled our boats as we passed along; and did all Europe take to a fish diet that one bay could supply them. And the woods, Sieur! They swarm with animals. Mink, otter, beaver, fox, are as plentiful there as sheep and goats are with us, and as easily captured. There would be no trouble to get their skins, or time lost in hunting them either. The Indians would bring in pelts by hundreds, and all we should need to give them in return would be a few glass beads, metal rings, leaden images, or some gaudy apparel."

"Enough, enough!" said De Roberval impatiently. "You talk as if you were in the establishment of a St Malo merchant instead of in the house of a nobleman of Picardy."

Claude saw that Cartier had over-shot the mark, and so came to the rescue.

"The Sieur de Roberval," he said, "must pardon good Master Cartier. He has so long been bringing home the wealth of other lands that he is inclined to think of the value of a country by the amount of wealth it can put into the treasury of France."

"A very laudable way of thinking, and one of which good King Francis would be the first to approve," replied the nobleman in a gentler tone.

"Yes," said Claude, "but not the only thing to consider. This commerce gives us the greatest opportunity any people has ever had. The whole New World is steeped in the most degrading paganism. The Indians have no notion of God, or the Blessed Virgin, or of Christ. And, Sieur, while the treasure from the streams and the forest may bring us reward on earth, the countless souls we may lead to heaven will win us crowns in eternity."

Claude was not a hypocrite. He had begun to speak of the spiritual side of the enterprise with the special purpose of buttressing Cartier's argument; but he was a devout Catholic, and his lips only echoed what was in his heart.

"Pontbriand," replied Roberval, "you plead like a holy father. We shall have to shave your head and give you a black robe. But there is something in what you say; though to propagate Christianity effectively in such a land would require enormous wealth."

"True, most noble Sieur," said Cartier hastily, "and if the forest and the stream do not yield sufficient we must dig it out of the earth."

"What mean you? Have you further information about the mineral wealth of the New World? The last you gave me was of little value. Your precious metal has proved to be less valuable than lead, and your diamonds but quartz. See," he said, rising, "how this acid affects your gold."

He took from a shelf a piece of metal which Cartier had sent to him.

"La Pommeraye," he said, "you will have to be a right hand for me, and uncork this vial."

A drop of the liquid was allowed to fall upon the metal, which at once became discoloured.

"No, no!" exclaimed Roberval. "You will have to try some other bait. I will not go to Canada hoping for gold."

"I do not wish to contradict you, Sieur, but test this lump;" and Cartier, as he spoke, handed him a nugget the size of an egg.

Nervously Roberval seized it. It stood the test.

"Where!" he exclaimed in an excited voice, "did you get this?"

"From Donnacona, of whom you have heard, and whom indeed you have seen for yourself."

"And where did Donnacona get it?"

"Far west of his home at Stadacona, and of Hochelaga, too."

"I must see him at once," said Roberval.

"That will be difficult, Sieur," replied Cartier. "He is in Heaven."

"Dead, is he? Well, what good will that nugget do us?" said Roberval, in disgust and disappointment. "We might search for centuries before we could find its mate."

"True, Sieur, but where one was found there are likely to be others. Besides, I have here something that may help us in our search."

As he spoke he unrolled a precious chart, scratched on birch bark with some rude weapon, such as a flint arrow-head.

"I got this from Donnacona five years ago, and I have kept it from the world till this moment, fearing that calamity might befall it."

He spread it on the table, and on one corner rested the tempting nugget.

It was a marvellous map; the map of an unknown world of wonders.

"I can swear to the truth of this part at least," said Cartier. "This is Hochelaga, and here are marked the difficult rapids above it. These five inland seas are without doubt in existence. Many Indians have told me of them; and see, Sieur, this one is incomplete. Donnacona told me that no Indian had ever reached its end; and yet there are tales among the Indians of richly-robed men of another race and colour who live beyond these vast western waters. I do not like to conjecture in so great an undertaking, but does it not seem probable that we have at last before us the road to the East, and to the Kingdom of the Grand Khan?"

"Enough, enough, Cartier!" said Roberval, laughing. "You are too enthusiastic. What next will you have to offer? Already we have had furs, fish, timber, gold, silver, precious stones, and Indian souls. You must think I need great temptation to be lured into this enterprise. But what have we here, to the north of this ocean?"

"I am glad you have noticed that," replied Cartier. "Those rude marks are the mines. They are of great antiquity; and Donnacona, who had no idea of the value of the precious metals, spoke of the men of old who dug for metal such as we wore on our fingers, and about our necks. He had a fine scorn for such baubles; and, as if to impress us with their worthlessness, stood on the heights of Stadacona, and pointed with pride to the wigwams of his tribe clustering at the foot of the cliff: 'But,' he said, 'the men who wrought the metal are no more. Mighty oaks grow from the earth in which they toiled.'"

Roberval seemed scarcely to heed this long harangue. He gazed intently at the map, and did not raise his eyes till the voice of La Pommeraye, who had hitherto been silent, broke upon his ear.

"What Cartier has told you, Sieur, is true. I too have heard the same tales from very different sources. But, to my mind, Cartier and De Pontbriand, in advocating their expedition, have left out the most important consideration. Spain is already in the New World. Cortez has brought shiploads of gold from Mexico; Ponce de Leon, Garay, Vasquez de Ayllon, and Hernando de Soto have all brought home tales of treasure and wonder; and if France does not make haste she will find herself one of the least among European Powers. Besides, let us build up a nation in the New World, and we may have some more fighting. The rumours of war that flit up and down in France are mere woman's talk. My blade is rusting in the scabbard, and now that the Emperor and King Francis are complimenting each other like two schoolgirls, it is long likely to remain so. But in the New World there will be a glorious opportunity for a struggle with Spain. The Spaniard already claims the whole of America, and will fight for every inch of it. A strong man could found a mighty empire on the banks of the Hochelaga, and have all the fighting his heart could desire. I should like to be lieutenant to such a man."

"And you shall be," said De Roberval, firmly. "Gentlemen, I have decided. To-morrow I depart to hold an interview with King Francis. Meet me here in three weeks, and I will report my success. He owes me a heavy debt, and will, I have no doubt, fit out and man a fleet for us, and give me full power over Canada."

The three men rose. Cartier and De Pontbriand made their adieus and left the room; but before La Pommeraye could follow them, the touch of Roberval's hand on his shoulder arrested him. The door closed on the other two, and Roberval, without resuming his seat, remarked, in a not unkindly tone:

"You are a brave youth! I admire your courage, and shall be glad to have you join me in this expedition. But one thing I must have distinctly understood: This romantic attachment you fancy you have conceived for my niece—I must hear no more of it. You have seen her but once, and under circumstances which make it unlikely that you will ever meet her again. Your time will be fully occupied in preparations for our departure; as for her, I shall see that she leaves St Malo at once. Go, now, and prove yourself indeed a man of honour by attempting to see no more of her. I warn you, you will rue the day you cross my will."

The young soldier merely bowed in silence and left the room. As he stepped into the long hall he noticed two figures standing close to each other in the dim light at the farther end. They seemed to be engaged in close conversation. He recognised Claude, and his heart sank within him, for he thought the second figure was Marguerite. De Roberval was following close behind him, and, with a generous impulse to shield his friend, Charles placed his giant proportions immediately in front of the little nobleman. But when they reached the street door he was rejoiced to find Marie standing there, apparently bidding good-bye to Claude.

"Where is Marguerite?" said De Roberval sternly.

"In her room, Sieur."

"I thought I saw her here a moment ago."

"You must have mistaken me for her, Sieur," replied Marie, unhesitatingly, "as I but this moment left her."

"Strange," thought La Pommeraye, as the two young men left the house together, "that we should both have made the same mistake; but doubtless we were both thinking of her. But that fair damsel in the hall is not the style of beauty by which I should have thought Claude would be attracted. However, so much the better for me. The coast is now clear, I hope."

"Claude," he said, after they had walked a little distance in silence, "I saw you as I came out into the hall. You seemed to be holding a very absorbing conversation with that fair lady—a friend of Mdlle de Roberval's, I conclude. May I be permitted to ask her name?"

Claude did not answer for a few moments, and La Pommeraye noticed that his face wore an expression of anxiety and doubt. At length he said:

"That is Mdlle de Vignan—the Sieur de Roberval's ward. She lives with him, and is the constant companion of his niece."

"Marie de Vignan?" exclaimed Charles. "The daughter of Aubrey de Vignan who was killed in action five years ago?"

"The same."

"I would I had known it was she! Yet how could I recognise her?—I have not seen her since I held her in my arms, a mischievous little elf of five years old, when I used to be a constant visitor at her father's house. It was a second home to me—indeed, more of a home than I have ever known elsewhere, before or since. And that is my little friend and playmate! I congratulate you, Claude. If she has inherited anything of her father's nature and her mother's sweetness she will be indeed a jewel."

To his surprise Claude made no reply; and the two friends walked on in silence. La Pommeraye asked no more questions, and his friend was evidently not desirous of volunteering any further information. They shortly overtook Cartier, who was waiting for them, and the incident was forgotten for the present in the discussion of their plans for the proposed voyage.