Yet they were not eyes that
threatened, nor eyes that betrayed excitement or passion. And St.
Pierre's voice, when he spoke, lacked the deep and vibrant note
that had been in it. It was as if he had placed upon it the force
of a mighty will, chaining it back, just as something hidden and
terrible lay chained behind his eyes.
"Why play like little children, M'sieu Carrigan?" he asked. "Why
not come out squarely, honestly, like men? I know what has
happened. Mon Dieu, it was bad! You were almost killed, and you
heard that poor wreck, Andre, call for Roger Audemard. My Jeanne
has told you about that--how I found him in the forest with his
broken mind and body. And about my Jeanne--" St. Pierre's fists
grew into knotted lumps on the table. "Non, I will die--I will
kill you--before I will tell you why she shot at you behind the
rock! We are men, both of us. We are not afraid. And you--in my
place--what would YOU do, m'sieu?"
In the moment's silence each man looked steadily at the other.
"I would--fight," said David slowly. "If it was for her, I am
pretty sure I would fight."
He believed that he was drawing the net in now, that it would
catch St.
Pages:
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209