"The best man here should raise the glass first and say the votre sante.

'Tis M'sieu' Medallion should speak and sip now." Medallion was half-sitting on the window-sill, abstractedly listening.
He had been thinking that his ships were burned behind him, and that in middle-age he was starting out to make another camp for himself in the world, all because of the new Seigneur of Pontiac.

Time was when he had been successful here, but Louis Racine had changed all that.

His hand was against the English, and he had brought a French auctioneer to Pontiac.

Medallion might have divided the parish as to patronage, but he had other views.
So he was going.