"I drink your health,
M'seur, and wish you happiness!"
"You lie!" snapped Howland.
Jean lowered the cup without drinking.
"It's the truth, M'seur," he insisted. "Since that _bee_-utiful fight
back there I can not help but wish you happiness. I drink also to the
happiness of Meleese, also to the happiness of those who tried to kill
you on the trail and at the coyote. But, _Mon Dieu_, how is it all to
come? Those at the post are happy because they believe that you are
dead. You will not be happy until they are dead. And Meleese--how will
all this bring happiness to her? I tell you that I am as deep in trouble
as you, M'seur Howland. May the Virgin strike me dead if I'm not!"
He drank, his eyes darkening gloomily. In that moment there flashed into
Howland's mind a memory of the battle that Jean had fought for him on
the Great North Trail.
"You nearly killed one of them--that night--at Prince Albert," he said
slowly. "I can't understand why you fought for me then and won't help me
now. But you did. And you're afraid to go down there--"
"Until I have regrown a beard," interrupted Jean with a low chuckling
laugh. "You would not be the only one to die if they saw me again like
this.
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