When Armand picked up his glass it left a wet ring that would stain the polished maple surface. There were already many rings on the desk, even though it had been shipped out from Philadelphia only two months ago. They looked like owl's eyes, staring as the spectacles stared. But Raoul couldn't bring himself to care about how his desk looked, just as he couldn't care enough to get started on rebuilding Victoire. He preferred to live at the trading post. He hadn't felt like doing anything, ever since Auguste's second escape from Victor. Next spring, he told himself, he'd get the work going. And so he sat up late every night in his counting room with Armand and they drank and told each other the same stories about the war with Black Hawk's band. There were men to drink with in the trading post taproom, but he didn't care for most of them. Armand had been with him longer than anybody. Raoul might not like him much, but he was used to him. Armand had grudgingly accepted Raoul's explanation that he hadn't read his copy of the will carefully before sticking it in the fire. He thanked Raoul for the belated two hundred dollars and dismissed Pierre's generosity as an attempted bribe from beyond the grave. Raoul stared at his stained desk. The drawer was still open, the silver case still visible. "They were my brother's spectacles." "I know that. Why do you keep them? You hated your brother." Raoul brought the flat of his hand heavily down on the desk. "Shut up! You know nothing about it." _How do I feel about Pierre? Do I still love him in a way? Is that why I keep his spectacles?_ Unwilling suddenly to consign the silver case to his desk, he dropped it into his jacket pocket. Armand probably wanted him to throw it away so he could retrieve the case and sell it for the silver. Armand said, "Your brother put the horns on me. And his Injun friends killed my wife. Mon Dieu, how I wanted to see that bastard son of his hang for that!" Raoul was tired of hearing Armand go on about dead Marchette, to whom he'd given nothing but blows and contempt when she was alive. Going to bed with Pierre was the only good thing that ever happened to that poor woman. But he said nothing; after all, he himself had cared little enough for Clarissa when she was alive. "You'll get a chance to kill him yet," said Raoul. "He'll be back this way." It was now nearly a week since the sergeant at Fort Crawford in Raoul's pay passed the word that Andrew Jackson had sent the mongrel back West. To think, that vermin meeting the President! If Auguste traveled as fast as the news, he must be nearly here. Raoul's informant said that Auguste was supposed to be sent with a military escort to the new Sauk reservation in Ioway. Raoul was sure Auguste would come to Victor instead.