Perrot knew the way, I did not; Perrot also knew the Indians." "But Perrot," said the governor bluffly, "would have been the letter-carrier; you are a kind of ambassador.

Upon my soul, yes, a sort of ambassador!" he added, enjoying the idea; for, look at it how you would, Iberville was but a boy.
"That was my father's thought and my own," answered Iberville coolly.
"There was my father to care for till his wound was healed and he could travel back to Quebec, so we thought it better Perrot should stay with him.

A Le Moyne was to present himself, and a Le Moyne has done so." The governor was impressed more deeply than he showed.

It was a time of peace, but the young man's journey among Indian braves and English outlaws, to whom a French scalp was a thing of price, was hard and hazardous.

His reply was cordial, then his fingers came to the seal of the packet; but the girl's hand touched his arm.
"I know his name," she said in the governor's ear, "but he does not know mine." The governor patted her hand, and then rejoined: "Now, now, I forgot the lady; but I cannot always remember that you are full fifteen years old." Standing up, with all due gravity and courtesy, "Monsieur Iberville," he said, "let me present you to Mistress Jessica Leveret, the daughter of my good and honoured and absent friend, the Honourable Hogarth Leveret." So the governor and his councillor stood shoulder to shoulder at one window, debating Count Frontenac's message; and shoulder to shoulder at another stood Iberville and Jessica Leveret.