"What mean you by that threat?" "You will learn to your sorrow; the way we travel is long, and I am woodsman as well as soldier. You will do well to heed my words." I released my arm, but did not move. My only feeling toward him at that moment was one of disgust, defiance. The threat in his eyes, the cool insolence of his speech, set my blood on fire. "Monsieur," I said coldly, although every nerve of my body throbbed, "you may know girls, but you deal now with a woman. Your speech, your insinuation is insult. I disliked you before; now I despise you, yet I will say this in answer to what you have intimated. Monsieur de Artigny is nothing to me, save that he hath shown himself friend. You wrong him, even as you wrong me, in thinking otherwise, and whatever the cause of misunderstanding between us, there is no excuse for you to pick quarrel with him." "You appear greatly concerned over his safety." "Not at all; so far as I have ever heard the Sieur de Artigny has heretofore proven himself quite capable of sustaining his own part. 'Tis more like I am concerned for you." "For me? You fool! Why, I was a swordsman when that lad was at his mother's knee." He laughed, but with ugly gleam of teeth. "_Sacre!_ I hate such play acting. But enough of quarrel now; there is sufficient time ahead to bring you to your senses, and a knowledge of who is your master. Hugo Chevet, come here." My uncle climbed the bank, his rifle in hand, with face still bloated, and red from the drink of the night before. Behind him appeared the slender black-robed figure of the Jesuit, his eyes eager with curiosity. It was sight of the latter which caused Cassion to moderate his tone of command. "You will go with Chevet," he said, pointing to the fire among the trees, "until I can talk to you alone." "A prisoner?" "No; a guest," sarcastically, "but do not overstep the courtesy." We left him in conversation with the _père_, and I did not even glance back. Chevet breathed heavily, and I caught the mutter of his voice. "What meaneth all this chatter?" he asked gruffly. "Must you two quarrel so soon?" "Why not?" I retorted. "The man bears me no love; 'tis but gold he thinks about." "Gold!" he stopped, and slapped his thighs. "'Tis precious little of that he will ever see then." "And why not? Was not my father a land owner?" "Ay! till the King took it." "Then even you do not know the truth. I am glad to learn that, for I have dreamed that you sold me to this coxcomb for a share of the spoils."