“I hope so, Jim,” said Paul.

“Now thar ain’t no doubt uv what I say,” said Long Jim.  “Take this case uv ourn.  Jest when we need it most fur a thousand miles uv river travel we git a bee-yu-ti-ful boat, all fitted up with everything we want.  Jest when that Spaniard gits his paws on us, he don’t git his paws on one uv us, an’ that’s Shif’less Sol out thar in the woods.  An’ so long ez Shif’less Sol is free out thar in the woods we’re mighty nigh free ourselves.  Then, when this same Spaniard is ready to load irons on Henry in a way that no free-born man kin stand, in pops a priest who likes us—­an’ we don’t belong to his church either—­an’ puts a stop to the whole thing.”

While they were talking Francisco Alvarez also was busy with a kindred theme, as he entertained a guest.  That guest was Father Montigny, to whom he had made up his mind to be courteous, although he would not condescend to any further apology.  He ordered that the priest should receive food and attention, and that men should look after and replenish his canoe which was now tied in the bayou.  After all these orders were given, Alvarez sat in the great room of Beaulieu and smoked the cigarro of his time.

There was a bitter drop in the well of his satisfaction.  The coming of the priest had been unforeseen and unfortunate.  He knew Father Montigny, and Father Montigny knew him.  Now how much did Father Montigny know of his plans?  That was the important question.

While he was yet speaking, Father Montigny, whom a very little of rest and food always sufficed, entered the room, his manner full of austerity.  Francisco Alvarez rose, all blandness and courtesy.

“Be seated, Father,” he said.  “It is a poor place that we have here, but we give you of our best.  Who would deserve it more than you, a man of such long travels and such great hardships in the holiest of all causes?”

The face of the priest did not relax.  He sat down upon one of the cane chairs and gazed sternly at Alvarez.  Truly, it is a terrible thing to meet the accusing gaze of a man who fears neither torture, nor death, nor the world to come!  The accusation is likely to be true.  Alvarez looked away.  Twice within one day he who, with reason, thought himself so courageous had been forced to yield to the gaze of another, and his heart was full of angry rebellion.  But he knew that knowledge and power dwelt under the simple black robe of this man.

“It seems,” said Father Montigny, and there was a slight touch of irony in his tone, “that I came at the right moment.”

Francisco Alvarez compelled his face to smile, though his heart was raging.

“I have already apologized, Father Montigny,” he said, “for what I was about to do.  And yet the phrase ‘about to do’ is wrong.  Even if you had not come I should have repented of myself, and sent away the irons.  I can repeat, too, in my defense that I was provoked beyond endurance by this youth’s insolence.”