"But it will come," said de Mezy loudly, "and then, gentlemen, this
lordly Quebec of ours, which has known many English captives, will hold
multitudes of them."
There were cries of "Silence!" "Not so loud!"
"Don't insult guests!" but de Mezy merely laughed and said: "They don't
understand! The slow-witted English never know any tongue but their
own."
The red flush in Robert's face deepened and he moved angrily.
"Quiet, boy! Quiet!" whispered the hunter. "He wants a quarrel, and he
is surrounded by his friends, while we're strangers in a strange land
and a hostile city. Take a trifle of the light white wine that Monsieur
Berryer is pouring for you. It won't hurt you."
Robert steadied himself and sipped a little. De Mezy and his satellites,
Nemours and Le Moyne, sat down noisily at a table and ordered claret. De
Mezy gave the cue. They talked of the Bostonnais, not only of the two
Bostonnais who were present, but of the Bostonnais in all the English
colonies, applying the word to them whether they came from Massachusetts
or New York or Virginia.
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