e was Marie-Anne,
who, if it had been a joke, would not have played her part so well.

Suddenly his mind was filled only with her. Had she been his friend,
using all her influence to protect him, because her heart was sick of
the environment of which she was a part? His own heart jumped at the
thought. It was easy to believe. In Marie-Anne he had faith, and that
faith refused to be destroyed, but persisted--even clearer and stronger
as he thought again of Carmin Fanchet and Black Roger. In his heart
grew the conviction it was sacrilege to believe the kiss she had given
him that morning was a lie. It was something else--a spontaneous
gladness, a joyous exultation that he had returned unharmed, a thing
unplanned in the soul of the woman, leaping from her before she could
stop it. Then had come shame, and she had run away from him so swiftly
he had not seen her face again after the touch of her lips. If it had
been a subterfuge, a lie, she would not have done that.

He rose to his feet and paced restlessly back and forth as he tried to
bring together a few tangled bits of the puzzle. He heard voices
outside, and very soon felt the movement of the bateau under his feet,
and through one of the shoreward windows he saw trees and sandy beach
slowly drifting away. On that shore, as far as his eyes could travel up
and down, he saw no sign of Marie-Anne, but there remained a canoe, and
near the canoe stood Black Roger Audemard, and beyond him, huddled like
a charred stump in the sand, was Andre, the Broken Man. On the opposite
shore the raft was getting under way.

During the next half-hour several things happened which told him there
was no longer a sugar-coating to his imprisonment. On each side of the
bateau two men worked at his windows, and when they had finished, no
one of them could be opened more than a few inches. Then came the
rattle of the lock at the door, the grating of a key, and somewhat to
Carrigan's surprise it was Bateese who came in. The half-reed bore no
facial evidence of the paralyzing blows which had knocked him out a
short time before. His jaw, on which they had landed, was as aggressive
as ever, yet in his face and his attitude, as he stared curiously at
Carrigan, there was no sign of resentment or unfriendliness. Nor did he
seem to be ashamed. He merely stared, with the curious and rather
puzzled eyes of a small boy gazing at an inexplicable oddity. Carrigan,
standing before him, knew what was passing