He waited. It seemed to him that he could hear the fighting struggle in
Marie's breast. Then she began, brokenly, a little at a time, now and
then barely whispering the story. It was a woman's story, and she told
it like a woman, from the beginning. Perhaps at one time the rivalry
between Jan Thoreau and Francois Breault, and their struggle for her
love, had made her heart beat faster and her cheeks flush warm with a
woman's pride of conquest, even though she had loved one and had hated
the other. None of that pride was in her voice now, except when she
spoke of Jan.

"Yes--like that--children together--we grew up," she confided. "It was
down there at Wollaston Post, in the heart of the big forests, and when
I was a baby it was Jan who carried me about on his shoulders. Oui,
even then he played the violin. I loved it. I loved Jan--always. Later,
when I was seventeen, Francois Breault came."

She was trembling.

"Jan has told me a little about those days," lied Blake. "Tell me the
rest, Marie."

"I--I knew I was going to be Jan's wife," she went on, the hands she
had withdrawn from his twisting nervously in her lap. "We both knew.
And yet--he had not spoken--he had not been definite. Oo-oo, do you
understand, M'sieu Duval? It was my fault at the beginning! Francois
Breault loved me. And so--I played with him--only a little, m'sieu!--to
frighten Jan into the thought that he might lose me. I did not know
what I was doing. No--no; I didn't understand.

"Jan and I were married, and on the day Jan saw the missioner--a week
before we were made man and wife--Francois Beault came in from the
trail to see me, and I confessed to him, and asked his forgiveness. We
were alone. And he--Francois Breault--was like a madman."

She was panting. Her hands were clenched. "If Jan hadn't heard my
cries, and come just in time--" she breathed.

Her blazing eyes looked up into Blake's face. He understood, and nodded.

"And it was like that--again--three days ago," she continued. "I hadn't
seen Breault in two years--two years ago down at Wollaston Post. And he
was mad. Yes, he must have been mad when he came three days ago. I
don't know that he came so much for me as it was to kill Jan, He said
it was Jan. Ugh, and it was here--in the cabin--that they fought!"

"And Jan--punished him," said Blake in a low voice.

Again the convulsive shudder swept through Marie's shoulders.

"It was strange--what happened, m'sieu. I was going to