bolts and
locked breech and barrel with the extension rib. Then I snapped on the
fore-end; and there lay the gun in my hands, a fowling-piece fit for
an emperor.

"Give it?" muttered the poacher, huskily.

"Take it, my friend the Lizard," I replied, smiling down the wrench
in my heart.

There was a silence; then the poacher stepped forward, and, looking me
square in the eye, flung out his hand. I struck my open palm smartly
against his, in the Breton fashion; then we clasped hands.

"You mean honestly by the little one?"

"Yes," I said; "strike palms by Sainte Thekla of Ycone!"

We struck palms heavily.

"She is a child," he said; "there is no vice in her; yet I've seen
them nearly finished at her age in Paris." And he swore terribly as he
said it.

We dropped hands in silence; then, "Is this gun mine?" he demanded,
hoarsely.

"Yes."

"Strike!" he cried; "take my friendship if you want it, on this
condition--what I am is my own concern, not yours. Don't interfere,
m'sieu; it would be useless. I should never betray you, but I might
kill you. Don't interfere. But if you care for the good-will of a man
like me, take it; and when you desire a service from me, tell me, and
I'll not fail you, by Sainte-Eline of Paradise!"

"Strike palms," said I, gravely; and we struck palms thrice.

He turned on his heel, kicking off his sabots on the doorsill. "Break
bread with me; I ask it," he said, gruffly, and stalked before me into
the house.

The room was massive and of noble proportion, but there was scarcely
anything in it--a stained table, a settle, a little pile of rags on
the stone floor--no, not rags, but Jacqueline's clothes!--and there at
the end of the great chamber, built into the wall, was the ancient
Breton bed with its Gothic carving and sliding panels of black oak,
carved like the lattice-work in a chapel screen.

Outside dawn was breaking through a silver shoal of clouds; already
its slender tentacles of light were probing the shadows behind the
lattice where Jacqueline lay sleeping.

From the ashes on the hearth a spiral of smoke curled. The yellow cat
walked in and sat down, contemplating the ashes.

Slowly a saffron light filled the room; Jacqueline awoke in the dim
bed.

She pushed the panels aside and peered out, her sea-blue eyes heavy
with slumber.

"Ma doue!" she murmured; "it is M'sieu Scarlett! Aie! Aie! Am I a
countess to sleep so late? Bonjour, m'sieu! Bonjour, pa-pa!" She
caught s