hether toward hate or
love! He clutched the handle of his rapier and knotted the muscles of
his arms. He would fight his way toward her; no longer would he
supplicate, he would demand. He would follow her wherever she went,
aye, even back to France! For what had he to lose? Nothing. And all
the world to gain.

Man needs obstacles to overcome to be great either in courage or
magnanimity; he needs the sense of injustice, of wrong, of unmerited
contempt; he needs the wrath against these things without which man
becomes passive like non-carnivorous animals. And had not he
obstacles?--unrequited love, escutcheon to make bright and whole?

From a short distance Brother Jacques contemplated the Chevalier,
gloomily and morosely. Envy, said the marquis, gibing. Yes, envy;
envy of the large life, envy of riches, of worldly pleasures, of the
love of women. Cursed be this drop of acid which seared his heart:
envy. How he envied yon handsome fellow, with his lordly airs, the
life he had led and the gold he had spent! And yet . . . Brother
Jacques was a hero for all his robes. He cast out envy in the thought,
and made his way toward the Chevalier, whose face showed that at this
moment he was not very glad to see Brother Jacques.

"My brother, your father is very ill."

"That is possible," said the Chevalier, swinging to the ground. He did
not propose to confide any of his thoughts to the priest. "He is old,
and is wasteful of his energies."

"Yes, he has wasted his energies; in your cause, Monsieur, remember
that. Your father had nothing in common with D'Herouville. Their
paths had never crossed . . . and never will cross again."

The Chevalier kicked the stones impatiently. So Brother Jacques
understood why the marquis had fought the Comte d'Herouville?

"May I be so bold as to ask what took place between you and Monsieur le
Marquis on the night of his arrival in Quebec?"

"I must leave you in ignorance," said the Chevalier decisively.

"He may never leave his bed."

The Chevalier bit the ends of his mustache, and remained silent.

"He came a long way to do you a service," continued the priest.

"Who can say as to that? And I do not see that all this particularly
concerns you."

"But you will admit that he fought the man who . . . who laughed."

The Chevalier let slip a stirring oath, and the grip he put on the hilt
of his sword would have crushed the hand of an average strong man.

"Monsieur, i