CHAPTER II
WHEN THE RED-COATS CAME
A MONTH later there was a sale of the household effects, the horses, and general possessions of Medallion the auctioneer, who, though a Protestant and an Englishman, had, by his wits and goodness of heart, endeared himself to the parish. Therefore, the notables among the habitants had gathered in his empty house for a last drink of good-fellowship—Muroc the charcoalman, Duclosse the mealman, Bénoit the ne'er-do-weel, Gingras the one-eyed shoemaker, and a few others. They had drunk the health of Medallion, they had drunk the health of the Curé, and now Duclosse the mealman raised his glass. "Here's to!"
"Wait a minute, porridge-pot," cried Muroc. "The best man here should raise the glass first and say the votre santé. '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
