the people went wild. And
Perrot was never prouder than when, in Mountain Street, Iberville, after
three years' absence, threw his arms round him and kissed him on each
cheek.

It was in the dark hour before daybreak that Iberville and Perrot met
for their first talk after the long separation. What had occurred on the
day of Jessica's marriage Perrot had, with the Abbe de Casson's help,
written to Iberville. But they had had no words together. Now, in a room
of the citadel which looked out on the darkness of the river and the
deeper gloom of the Levis shore, they sat and talked, a single candle
burning, their weapons laid on the table between them.

They said little at first, but sat in the window looking down on the
town and the river. At last Iberville spoke. "Tell me it all as you
remember it, Perrot." Perrot, usually swift of speech when once started,
was very slow now. He felt the weight of every word, and he had rather
have told of the scalping of a hundred men than of his last meeting with
Jessica. When he had finished, Iberville said: "She kept the letter, you
say?"

Perrot nodded, and drew the ring from a pouch which he carried. "I have
kept it safe," he said, and held it out. Iberville took it and turned
it over in his hand, with an enigmatical smile. "I will hand it to her
myself," he said, half beneath his breath.

"You do not give her up, monsieur?"

Iberville laughed. Then he leaned forward, and found Perrot's eyes in
the half darkness. "Perrot, she kept the letter, she would have kept the
ring if she could. Listen: Monsieur Gering has held to his word; he has
come to seek me this time. He knows that while I live the woman is
not his, though she bears his name. She married him--Why? It is no
matter--he was there, I was not. There were her father, her friends! I
was a Frenchman, a Catholic--a thousand things! And a woman will yield
her hand while her heart remains in her own keeping. Well, he has come.
Now, one way or another, he must be mine. We have great accounts to
settle, and I want it done between him and me. If he remains in the ship
we must board it. With our one little craft there in the St. Charles we
will sail out, grapple the admiral's ship, and play a great game: one
against thirty-four. It has been done before. Capture the admiral's ship
and we can play the devil with the rest of them. If not, we can die.
Or, if Gering lands and fights, he also must be ours. Sainte-Helene and
Maricourt k