"Men of sense never confuse issues or choose the wrong time for
their purposes. Foes may have unwritten truces."

There was the matter in a nutshell. He had done nothing carelessly;
he was touching off our conflict with flashes of genius. He was the
man who had roused in me last night the fiercest passions of my
life, and yet this morning he had saved me from death, and, though
he was still my sworn enemy, I was about to breakfast with him.

Already the streets of the town were filling; for it was the day
before Christmas, and it would be the great market-day of the year.
Few noticed us as we sped along down Palace Street and I could not
conceive whither we were going, until, passing the Hotel Dieu, I
saw in front the Intendance. I remembered the last time I was there,
and what had happened then, and a thought flashed through me that
perhaps this was another trap. But I put it from me, and soon
afterwards Doltaire said:

"I have now a slice of the Intendance for my own, and we shall
breakfast like squirrels in a loft."

As we drove into the open space before the palace, a company of
soldiers standing before the great door began marching up to the
road by which we came. With them was a prisoner. I saw at once that
he was a British officer, but I did not recognize his face. I asked
his name of Doltaire, and found it was one Lieutenant Stevens, of
Rogers' Rangers, those brave New Englanders. After an interview
with Bigot he was being taken to the common jail. To my request
that I might speak with him Doltaire assented, and at a sign from