above the temple. The corporal had used the hilt of his
heavy sword, and no small power had forced the blow.

The vicomte sprang forward just as madame was groping for the knife.
He put his foot on it, laughing.

"Not at present, Madame; later, if you are inclined that way. That was
well done, Corporal."

The vicomte bound the Chevalier's hands and ankles securely and took
the dripping hat from Pauquet, dashing the contents into the
Chevalier's face.

"Help me set him up against the wall."

The Chevalier shuddered, and by and by opened his eyes. The world came
back to him. He looked at his enemies calmly.

"Well?" he said. He would waste no breath asking for mercy. There was
no mercy here.

"You shall be left where you are, Monsieur," replied the vicomte,
"while I hold converse with madame inside. You are where you can hear
but not see. Corporal, take the men to the canoe and wait for me.
Warn me if there is any danger. I shall be along presently.
Chevalier, I compliment you upon your fight. I know but a dozen men in
all France who are your match."

"What are you going to do?" The Chevalier felt his heart swell with
agony.

"What am I going to do? Listen. You shall hear even if you can not
see." The vicomte entered the hut.

Madame was standing in a corner. . . . The Chevalier lived. If she
could but hold the vicomte at arm's length for a space!

"Well, Madame, have you no friendly welcome for one who loves you
fondly? I offered to make you my wife; but now! What was it that
Monsieur Shakspere says? . . . 'Sit you down, sweet, till I wring your
heart'? Was that it?"

All her courage returned at the sound of his voice. Her tongue spoke
not, but the hate in her eyes was a language he read well enough.

"Mine! . . . For a day, or a week, or for life! Has it not occurred
to you, sweet? You are mine. Here we are, alone together, you and I;
and I am a man in all things, and you are a beautiful woman." His
glance, critical and admiring, ran over her face and form. "You would
look better in silks. Well, you shall have them. You stood at the
door of a convent; why did you not enter? You love the world too well;
eh? . . . Like your mother."

Her eyes were steady.

"In my father's orchards there used to be a peach-tree. It had the
whimsical habit of bearing one large peach each season. When it
ripened I used to stand under it and gloat over it for hours, to fill
my senses with