His vision and his soul were reaching out to the bateau
lying in darkness on the far side of the river, where St. Pierre's
wife was alone in her unhappiness. His first impulse was to fling
himself in the river and race to her--his second, to go back to
St. Pierre, even in his nakedness, and call him forth to a
reckoning. In his profession of man-hunting he had never had the
misfortune to kill, but he could kill St. Pierre--now. His fingers
dug into the slippery wood of the log under him, his blood ran
hot, and in his eyes blazed the fury of an animal as he stared
into the wall of gloom between him and Marie-Anne Boulain.
How much did she know? That was the first question which pounded
in his brain. He suddenly recalled his reference to the fight, his
apology to Marie-Anne that it should happen so near to her
presence, and he saw again the queer little twist of her mouth as
she let slip the hint that she was not the only one of her sex who
would know of tomorrow's fight. He had not noticed the
significance of it then. But now it struck home. Marie-Anne was
surely aware of Carmin Fanchet's presence on the raft.
But did she know more than that? Did she know the truth, or was
her heart filled only with suspicion and fear, aggravated by St.
Pages:
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258