came to Garoche the
morning after his marriage? 'Garoche,' the Baron said, having waved his
men away, 'as you see, the lady made her choice--and for ever. You and
she have said your last farewell in this world--for the wife of the
Baron of Beaugard can have nothing to say to Garoche the soldier.' At
that Garoche snarled out, 'The wife of the Baron of Beaugard, that is a
lie to shame all hell.' The Baron wound the lash of a riding-whip round
and round his fingers quietly and said: 'It is no lie, my man, but the
truth.' Garoche eyed him savagely, and growled: 'The Church made her my
wife yesterday; and you--you--you--ah, you who had all--you with your
money and place, which could get all easy, you take the one thing I
have! You, the grand seigneur, are only a common robber! Ah, Jesu--if
you would but fight me!'

"The Baron, very calm, said: 'First, Garoche, the lady was only your
wife by a form which the Church shall set aside--it could never have
been a true marriage. Second, it is no stealing to take from you what
you did not have. I took what was mine--remember the glove! For the
rest--to fight you? No, my churl, you know that's impossible. You may
shoot me from behind a tree or a rock, but swording with you--come,
come, a pretty gossip for the Court! Then, why wish a fight? Where would
you be, as you stood before me--you!' The Baron stretched himself up,
and smiled down at Garoche. 'You have your life, man; take it and go--to
the farthest corner of New France, and show not your face here again. If
I find you ever again in Beaugard I will have you whipped from parish to
parish. Here is money for you--good gold coins. Take them, and go.'

"Garoche got still and cold as stone. He said in a low, harsh voice:
'M'sieu' le Baron, you are a common thief, a wolf, a snake. Such men as
you come lower than Judas. As God has an eye to see, you shall pay all
one day. I do not fear you nor your men nor your gallows. You are a
jackal, and the woman has a filthy heart--a ditch of shame.'

"The Baron drew up his arm like lightning, and the lash of his whip came
singing across Garoche's pale face. Where it passed, a red welt rose,
but the man never stirred. The arm came up again, but a voice' behind
the Baron said: 'Ah no, no, not again!' There stood Falise. Both men
looked at her. 'I have heard Garoche,' she said. 'He does not judge me
right. My heart is no filthy ditch of shame; but it was breaking when
I came from the altar with hi