a fine test of nerve, when the Lieutenant's eyes met those of
the Governor. Neither man permitted the slightest change of countenance
to betray his feelings. In fact, Beverley's face was as rigid as
marble; he could not have changed it.

But with Oncle Jazon it was a different affair. He had no dignity to
preserve, no fine military bearing to sustain, no terrible tug of
conscience, no paralyzing grip of despair on his heart. When he saw
Hamilton going by, bearing himself so superbly, it affected the French
volatility in his nature to such an extent that his tongue could not be
controlled.

"Va t'en, bete, forban, meurtrier! Skin out f'om here! beast, robber,
murderer!" he cried, in his keen screech-owl voice. "I'll git thet
scelp o' your'n afore sundown, see 'f I don't! Ye onery gal-killer an'
ha'r buyer!"

The blood in Hamilton's veins caught no warmth from these remarks; but
he held his head high and passed stolidly on, as if he did not hear a
word. Helm turned the tail of an eye upon Oncle Jazon and gave him a
droll, quizzical wink of approval. In response the old man with
grotesque solemnity drew his buckhorn handled knife, licked its blade
and returned it to its sheath,--a bit of pantomime well understood and
keenly enjoyed by the onlooking creoles.

"Putois! coquin!" they jeered, "goujat! poltron!"

Beverley heard the taunting racket, but did not realize it, which was
well enough, for he could not have restrained the bitter effervescence.
He stood like a statue, gazing fixedly at the now receding figure, the
lofty, cold-faced man in whom centered his hate of hates. Clark had
requested him to be present at the conference in the church; but he
declined, feeling that he could not meet Hamilton and restrain himself.
Now he regretted his refusal, half wishing that--no, he could not
assassinate an enemy under a white flag. In his heart he prayed that
there would be no surrender, that Hamilton would reject every offer. To
storm the fort and revel in butchering its garrison seemed the only
desirable thing left for him in life.

Father Beret was, indeed, present at the church, as Hamilton had
dreaded; and the two duelists gave each other a rapier-like eye-thrust.
Neither spoke, however, and Clark immediately demanded a settlement of
the matter in hand. He was brusque and imperious to a degree,
apparently rather anxious to repel every peaceful advance.

It was a laconic interview, crisp as autumn ice and bitter as