you would pick out some cockerel
without so much as a spur to his heel. 'Tis my choice, not yours, for
I know the world, and the man you need. Monsieur Cassion has asked me
to favor him, and I think well of it."

"Cassion! Surely, you would not wed me to that creature?"

He pushed back his chair, regarding me with scowling eyes.

"And where is there a better? _Sacre_! do you think yourself a queen
to choose? 'Tis rare luck you have such an offer. Monsieur Cassion is
going to be a great man in this New France; already he has the
Governor's ear, and a commission, with a tidy sum to his credit in
Quebec. What more could any girl desire in a husband?"

"But, Monsieur, I do not love him; I do not trust the man."

"Pah!" He burst into a laugh, rising from the table. Before I could
draw back he had gripped me by the arm. "Enough of that, young lady.
He is my choice, and that settles it. Love! who ever heard of love
nowadays? Ah, I see, you dream already of the young gallant De
Artigny. Well, little good that will do you. Why what is he? a mere
ragged adventurer, without a sou to his name, a prowling wolf of the
forest, the follower of a discredited fur thief. But enough of this; I
have told you my will, and you obey. Tomorrow we go to Quebec, to the
Governor's ball, and when Monsieur Cassion returns from his mission
you will marry him--you understand?"

The tears were in my eyes, blotting out his threatening face, yet
there was naught to do but answer.

"Yes, Monsieur."

"And this De Artigny; if the fellow ever dares come near you again
I'll crush his white throat between my fingers."

"Yes, Monsieur."

"To your room then, and think over all I have said. You have never
found me full of idle threats I warrant."

"No, Monsieur."

I drew my arm from his grasp, feeling it tingle with pain where his
fingers had crushed the flesh, and crept up the narrow stairs, glad
enough to get away and be alone. I had never loved Chevet, but he had
taught me to fear him, for more than once had I experienced his
brutality and physical power. To him I was but a chattel, an
incumbrance. He had assumed charge of me because the law so ordained,
but I had found nothing in his nature on which I could rely for
sympathy. I was his sister's child, yet no more to him than some
Indian waif. More, he was honest about it. To his mind he did well by
me in thus finding me a husband. I sank on my knees, and hid my face,
shuddering at the thought