Long clay pipes clouded the candle-light; there was the jingle of gold and the purr of shuffling cards; and here and there were some given to the voicing of ribald songs.

To Victor this was no uncommon scene; and it was not long before he had thrown himself with gay enthusiasm into this mad carouse.
Shortly after the door had closed upon the company of merry-makers and their loud voices had resolved into untranslatable murmurs, three men came into the public room and ranged themselves in front of the fire.
The close fitting, long black cassocks, the wide-brimmed hats looped up at the sides, proclaimed two of them to belong to the Society of Jesus.
The third, his body clothed in nondescript skins and furs, his feet in beaded moccasins, his head hatless and the coarse black hair adorned with a solitary feather from a heron's wing and glistening with melting snow, the color of his skin unburnished copper, his eyes black, fierce, restless,--all these marked the savage of the New World.

Potboys, grooms, and guests all craned their necks to get a glimpse of this strange and formidable being of whom they had heard such stories as curdled the blood and filled the night with troubled dreams.

A crowd gathered about, whispering and nodding and pointing.

The Iroquois beheld all this commotion with indifference not unmixed with contempt.
When he saw Du Puys and Bouchard pressing through the crowd, his lips relaxed.