one word was spoken with a quiet lack of excitement, even of
interest--it seemed to belie some of the things St. Pierre had told
him, and he could scarcely believe, looking at her now, that she had
entreated her husband to prevent the encounter, or that she had
betrayed any unusual emotion in the matter at all.

"I was afraid you would object," he could not keep from saying. "It
does not seem nice to pull off such a thing as that, when there is a
lady about--"

"Or LADIES." She caught him up quickly, and he saw a sudden little
tightening of her pretty mouth as she turned her eyes to the bit of
lace work again. "But I do not object, because what St. Pierre says is
right--must be right."

And the softness, he thought, went altogether out of the curve of her
lips for an instant. In a flash their momentary betrayal of vexation
was gone, and St. Pierre's wife had replaced the work-basket on the
table and was on her feet, smiling at him. There was something of wild
daring in her eyes, something that made him think of the glory of
adventure he had seen flaming in her face the night they had run the
rapids of the Holy Ghost.

"Tomorrow will be very unpleasant, M'sieu David," she cried softly.
"Bateese will beat you--terribly. Tonight we must think of things more
agreeable."

He had never seen her more radiant than when she turned toward the
piano. What the deuce did it mean? Had St. Pierre been making a fool of
him? She actually appeared unable to restrain her elation at the
thought that Bateese would surely beat him up! He stood without moving
and made no effort to answer her. Just before they had started on that
thrilling adventure into the forest, which had ended with his carrying
her in his arms, she had gone to the piano and had played for him. Now
her fingers touched softly the same notes. A little humming trill came
in her throat, and it seemed to David that she was deliberately
recalling his thoughts to the things that had happened before the
coming of St. Pierre. He had not lighted the lamp over the piano, and
for a flash her dark eyes smiled at him out of the half shadow. After a
moment she began to sing.

Her voice was low and without effort, untrained, and subdued as if
conscious and afraid of its limitations, yet so exquisitely sweet that
to David it was a new and still more wonderful revelation of St.
Pierre's wife. He drew nearer, until he stood close at her side, the
dark luster of her hair almost touchi