It was Dollier de Casson.

Iberville turned to him, but they did not speak at first--the priest knew his friend well.
"We shall succeed, abbe," Iberville said.
"May our quarrel be a just one, Pierre," was the grave reply.
"The forts are our king's; the man is with my conscience, my dear friend." "But if you make sorrow for the woman ?" "You brought me a gift from her!" His finger touched his doublet.
"She is English, my Pierre." "She is what God made her." "She may be sworn to the man." Iberville started, then shook his head incredulously.

"He is not worthy of her." "Are you ?" "I know her value better and prize it more." "You have not seen her for four years." "I had not seen you for four years--and yet!" "You saw her then only for a few days--and she was so young!" "What are days or years?
Things lie deep in us till some great moment, and then they spring into life and are ours for ever.

When I kissed King Louis' hand I knew that I loved my king; when De Montespan's.

I hated, and shall hate always.