"I have been a great traveller," she said, "and I have ears.

I have been as far west as Albany and south to Virginia, with my father, who, perhaps you do not know, is in England now.

And they told me everywhere that Frenchmen are bold, dark men, with great black eyes and very fine laces and wigs, and a trick of bowing and making foolish compliments; and they are not to be trusted, and they will not fight except in the woods, where there are trees to climb.

But I see that it is not all true, for you are not dark, your eyes are not big or black, your laces are not much to see, you do not make compliments--" "I shall begin now," he interrupted.
"-- you must be trusted a little, or Count Frontenac would not send you, and--and--tell me, would you fight if you had a chance ?" No one of her sex had ever talked so to Iberville.

Her demure raillery, her fresh, frank impertinence, through which there ran a pretty air of breeding, her innocent disregard of formality, all joined to impress him, to interest him.