“Yes, mademoiselle.”

“You see that I understand all this, monsieur.  Yet, I will go with you.”

I did not stir.  “You are acute.  Yet there is one point in my plan that you did not mention,” I said dully.

She turned away.  “I hoped to spare us both,” she returned in a tone as lifeless as my own.  “Yet, if you wish words, take them.  Monsieur, the Iroquois are allies of the English.  Your warfare with them is but a step in pursuit of larger game.  In founding an empire for your own land you would take one away from mine.  You hope in the end to crush the English on this continent.  Have I stated you correctly, monsieur?”

I bowed.

She laughed—­a laugh more bitter than my own had been.  “I am indeed the plaything of Fate,” she said a little wildly.  “But I will marry you.  You saved my life.  Yes, more.  You threw your career into the balance for an unknown man, your foe.  You jeopardized all that you hoped for, and you never whined nor lost sleep.  You are a superb gamester, monsieur.”

I smiled.  “Not enough of a gamester to accept your sacrifice, mademoiselle.”

She clenched her hands.  “I will marry you,” she retorted.  “You shall follow out your purpose.  Though, after all, you cannot succeed.  Who are you?  A dreamer, a soldier of fortune, a man without place or following.  You think slowly, and your heart rules your head.  How can you hope to wrest an empire from—­from us?  You cannot do it.  You cannot.  But you shall have your chance.  You gave me mine and you shall have yours.  We go west.  Otherwise—­I have warned you, monsieur.”

I seized her wrist, and made her meet my look.  “That is a coward’s threat,” I said contemptuously.

I could not daunt her.  “I mean it.  I mean it, monsieur,” she repeated quietly.

I stood and looked at her.  “You have a man’s equity,” I said.  “You are determined to give me my chance.  Well, I will take it,—­and remember that you gave it to me.  But, would you have me in any way weaken my purpose, mademoiselle?”

She looked up with a flash of anger.  “Am I a child or an intriguing woman?  No, no.  Do your best, or your worst, or I shall despise you for your weakness.  I have told you that I have scant hopes for your success, monsieur.”

What could I say?  I stood before her awkwardly.  “Mademoiselle, may I tell you something of myself and my people?  You should know what sort of name you are to bear.”

But she pressed her hands outward.  “No, no!” she cried.  “Why tell me?” Then she sobered.  “I know that you are brave and kind,” she said, with her eyes down.  “Beyond that—­I do not think that I am interested, monsieur.”

I felt angered.  “You should be interested,” I said bluntly.  “Well, the night is slipping away.  Let me lead you to the fire and bid you good-night.”

Her finger tips met mine as we walked back together, but the touch was as remote as the brushing of the pine boughs on my cheek.  Yet when I would have handed her her blanket and turned away, she detained me.  “Sit with me a little longer, monsieur,” she begged.  “I—­I think I am afraid of the woods to-night.  Let us sit here a while.”