towards Martial, but he had never dared to provoke him with so much
audacity and perseverance. La Louve's lover, thinking they were desirous
of driving him to extremities for some secret motive, quelled every
impulse of temper.

At the cry of the beaten dog, Martial rose, opened the door of the
kitchen, made the dog go out, and then returned, and went on with his
supper. This incredible patience, so little in harmony with Martial's
usual demeanour, puzzled and nonplussed his aggressors, who looked at
each other with amazement. He, affecting to appear wholly unconscious of
what was passing around him, ate away with great appetite, keeping
profound silence.

"Calabash, take the wine away," said the widow to her daughter.

She hastened to comply, when Martial said, "Stay, I haven't done my
supper."

"So much the worse," said the widow, taking the bottle away herself.

"Oh, that's another thing!" answered La Louve's lover. And pouring out a
large glass of water, he drank it, smacking his tongue, and exclaiming,
"Capital water!"

This excessive calmness irritated the burning anger of Nicholas, already
heated by copious libations; but still he hesitated at making a direct
attack, well knowing the vast power of his brother. Suddenly he cried
out, as if delighted at the idea, "Martial, you were quite right to turn
the dog out. It is a good habit to begin to give way, for you have but
to wait a bit, and you will see us kick your sweetheart out just as we
have driven away your dog."

"Oh, yes; for if La Louve is impudent enough to come to the island when
she leaves gaol," added Calabash, who quite understood Nicholas's
motive, "I'll serve her out."

"And I'll give her a dip in the mud by the hovel at the end of the
island," continued Nicholas; "and, if she gets out, I'll give her a few
rattlers over the nob with my wooden shoe, the----"

This insult addressed to La Louve, whom he loved with savage ardour,
triumphed over the pacific resolutions of Martial; he frowned, and the
blood mounted to his cheeks, whilst the veins in his brow swelled and
distended like cords. Still, he had so much control over himself as to
say to Nicholas, in a voice slightly altered by his repressed wrath:

"Take care of yourself! You are trying to pick a quarrel, and you will
find a bone to pick that will be too tough for you."

"A bone for me to pick?"

"Yes; and I'll thrash you more soundly than I did last time."

"What! Nicholas," sai