His heart was
thumping. In his eyes was a gathering fire. His body grew tense.
For he knew that at last he was looking at St. Pierre, chief of
the Boulains, and husband of the woman he loved.
As the significance of the situation grew upon him, a flash of his
old humor returned. It was the same grim humor that had possessed
him behind the rock, when he had thought he was going to die. Fate
had played him a dishonest turn then, and it was doing the same
thing by him now. Unless he deliberately turned his face away, he
was going to see the reunion of Marie-Anne and St. Pierre.
Yesterday he had strapped his binoculars to his belt. Today Marie-
Anne had looked through them a dozen times. They had been a source
of pleasure and thrill to her. Now, David thought, they would be
good medicine for him. He would see the whole thing through, and
at close range. He would leave himself no room for doubt. He had
laughed behind the rock, when bullets were zipping close to his
head, and the same grim smile came to his lips now as he focused
his glasses on the solitary figure at the head of the raft.
The smile died away when he saw St. Pierre. It was as if he could
reach out and touch him with his hand.
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