they
were, but little better situated than at Oneida. True, they were no
longer ill-treated and food was plentiful, but they were held here in a
captivity no less irksome. They were prisoners of impotency. Chance
and the god of whims had put them upon a sorry highway to the heart's
desire. It mattered nothing that madame had said plainly that she
loved none of them. The conceit of man is such that, like hope, it
dies only when he dies. Perhaps the poet's heart was the most
peaceful: he had bravely turned over the alluring page.

The dance grew wilder and noisier.

Chaumonot guilelessly pushed his inquiries regarding Monsieur le
Marquis. Those thousand livres had done so much! That generosity was
so deeply imbedded in his mind! And what had brought Monsieur le
Marquis to Quebec, and how long was he to remain? The Chevalier's jaws
knotted and knotted; but he succeeded in answering each question
courteously or avoiding it adroitly by asking a question himself. More
than once he felt the desire to leap up and dash into the forest.
Anything but that name . . . Monsieur le Marquis! "Tell Monsieur le
Comte for me that I am sleeping and may not be disturbed!" It had been
a cup of gall indeed that he drank outside his father's chamber.

All this while D'Herouville smiled and smiled; the vicomte labored over
the rust on his blade. When at length the good Father moved to another
side of the circle, where Du Puys and Nicot sat, the Chevalier stood up
and stepped before D'Herouville.

"Rise, Monsieur," he said. His voice was even.

D'Herouville rose, wondering. Victor ceased to inspect his hands, and
the vicomte let the blade sink to his knees.

"You have laughed, Monsieur D'Herouville; you have laughed at
misfortune." The Chevalier still spoke quietly. Only Victor surmised
the raging fire beneath those quiet tones.

"And will," retorted D'Herouville, his eyes lighting with intelligence.

"At Quebec you held an unmanly threat above my head. Come with me;
there is no woman here."

"Fight you? I believe we have settled that matter," insolently.

The Chevalier brought the back of his hand swiftly against
D'Herouville's mouth.

The laugh which sounded came from the vicomte. This would be
interesting if no one interfered. But he was up almost as quickly as
Victor, who rushed between the two men. D'Herouville's sword was half
free.

"Wherever you say!" he cried hoarsely.

"A moment, gentlemen!" sa