"Yes, I looked through the window. And I saw you, and the lowest
woman on the Three Rivers--the sister of a man I helped to hang,
I--"
"STOP!"
St. Pierre's voice broke out of him like the sudden crash of
thunder. He came a step nearer, his face livid, his eyes shooting
flame. With a mighty effort he controlled himself again. And then,
as if he saw something which David could not see, he tried to
smile, and in that same instant David caught a grin cutting a
great slash across the face of Concombre Bateese. The change that
came over St. Pierre now was swift as sunlight coming out from
shadowing cloud. A rumble grew in his great chest. It broke in a
low note of laughter from his lips, and he faced the bateau across
the river.
"M'sieu, you are sorry for HER. Is that it? You would fight--"
"For the cleanest, finest little girl who ever lived--your wife!"
"It is funny," said St. Pierre, as if speaking to himself, and
still looking at the bateau. "Yes, it is very funny, ma belle
Marie-Anne! He has told you he loves you, and he has kissed your
hair and held you in his arms--yet he wants to fight me because he
thinks I am steeped in sin, and to make me fight in place of
Bateese he has called my Carmin a low woman! So what else can I
do? I must fight.
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