Bigot was false himself to the heart's core, and believed in no
man's truth.
He was an acute judge of men. He read their motives, their bad ones
especially, with the accuracy of a Mephistopheles, and with the same
cold contempt for every trace of virtue.
Varin was a cunning knave, he said, ambitious of the support of the
Church; communing with his aunt, the Superior of the Ursulines, whom
he deceived, and who was not without hope of himself one day rising
to be Intendant. He would place no such secret in the keeping of
Varin!
Penisault was a sordid dog. He would cheat the Montagnais of his
gifts, and so discontent them with their charge. He had neither
courage nor spirit for an adventure. He was in his right place
superintending the counters of the Friponne. He despised Penisault,
while glad to use him in the basest offices of the Grand Company.
Le Mercier was a pickthank, angling after the favor of La
Pompadour,--a pretentious knave, as hollow as one of his own
mortars. He suspected him of being a spy of hers upon himself.
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