There was a bright moon, and the sky by some strange trick of atmosphere had taken on a green hue, against which everything stood out with singular distinctness.

The air was placid, and through the stillness came the low humming wash of the water to the hard shore.

The fort stood on an upland, looking in its solitariness like some lonely prison-house where men went, more to have done with the world than for punishment.

Iberville was in that mood wherein men do stubborn deeds--when justice is more with them than mercy, and selfishness than either.
"If you meet the man, Pierre ?" De Casson said before the party started.
Iberville laughed softly.

"If we meet, may my mind be his, abbe! But he is not here--there is no vessel, you see! Still, there are more forts on the bay." The band knelt down before they started.