"To whom do I surrender ?" "To an old acquaintance, monsieur," said Iberville, coming near, "who will cherish you for the king of France." "Damnation!" cried Gering, and his eyes hungered for his sword again.
"You would not visit me, so I came to look for you; though why, monsieur, you should hide up here in the porch of the world passeth knowledge." "Monsieur is witty," answered Gering stoutly; "but if he will grant me my sword again and an hour alone with him, I shall ask no greater joy in life." By this time the governor was on deck, and he interposed.
"I beg, sir," he said to Iberville, "you will see there is no useless slaughter at yon fort; for I guess that your men have their way with it." "Shall my messenger, in your name, tell your people to give in ?" "By Heaven, no: I hope that they will fight while remains a chance.
And be sure, sir, I should not have yielded here, but that I foresaw hopeless slaughter.

Nor would I ask your favour there, but that I know you are like to have bloody barbarians with you--and we have women and children!" "We have no Indians, we are all French," answered Iberville quietly, and sent the messenger away.
At that moment Perrot touched his arm, and pointed to a man whose shoulder was being bandaged.

It was Radisson, who had caught Iberville's sword when the abbe diverted it.
"By the mass," said Iberville; "the gift of the saints!" He pricked Radisson with the point of his sword.

"Well, Monsieur Renegade, who holds the spring of the trap now?
You have some prayers, I hope.

And if there is no priest among your English, we'll find you one before you swing next sundown." Radisson threw up a malignant look, but said nothing; and went on caring for his wound.
"At sunset, remember.