And where was Marie-Anne?
The question was insistent, and with it remained that cold grip of
something in his heart that had come with the sight of Carmin
Fanchet below. Was it possible that Carmin's hatred still lived,
deadlier than ever, and that with Black Roger she had plotted to
bring him here so that her vengeance might be more complete--and a
greater torture to him? Were they smiling and offering him their
hands, even as they knew he was about to die? And if that was
conceivable, what had they done with Marie-Anne?
He looked about the room. It was singularly bare, in an unusual
sort of way, he thought. There were rich rugs on the floor--three
magnificent black bearskins, and two wolf. The heads of two bucks
and a splendid caribou hung against the walls. He could see, from
marks on the floor, where a bed had stood, but this bed was now
replaced by a couch made up comfortably for one inclined to sleep.
The significance of the thing was clear--nowhere in the room could
he lay his hand upon an object that might be used as a weapon!
His eyes again sought the white-birch bars of his prison, and he
raised the two windows so that the cool, sweet breath of the
forests reached in to him.
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