“I had other reason.  To deny it would be merely uttering a lie to no purpose.  Madame de Noyan, we are not strangers—­we could never be after that night when we parted beneath the olives of Monsieur Beaujen’s garden.  You are wife to a chevalier of France; I, a homeless adventurer.  Yet I have no higher ambition than to prove of service to you.  Whatever I have accomplished has been entirely for your sake, not for his.  Now we are together, the daily opportunity to serve you is mine; here I can work for you, perchance die for you, should such sacrifice promise you happiness.  But if you decide to go back yonder, directly into danger as desperate as any confronting us to the northward, then I must determine for myself where I can serve you best.  Knowing my heart as you must, you can easily judge whether I would plunge deeper into the wilderness with your husband, or return to New Orleans with you.  There is a sentence in the Bible about the impossibility of serving two masters, hence I trust I may not be compelled to choose between, until the hour when you are both safe.”

She listened silently, and I almost feared I had ventured upon too plain speaking.  Yet now, as she turned again toward me, her eyes were moist with tears.

“You are a strange man, Geoffrey Benteen,” she said gently, and, I know not how, yet both her hands found way to mine.  “I scarcely comprehend your nature, or gauge your purposes—­you are so unlike all others I have known.  Yet this I am assured; you are of honest heart, and I trust you wholly.”

“You will not return to the town?”

“I abide with you, and with my husband.”  Her voice faltered to that last word, yet she spoke it bravely.

“It will be better so,” I assented.  “Better for us all.”

We slept late, undisturbed, in secure retreat among the trees, the vast river chanting its endless song on either side of us.  During the evening meal, partaken of amid the gathering shadows of twilight, our newly discovered friend again evidenced his power as a trencherman.

“Sacre!” ejaculated De Noyan in dismay.  “I supposed his breakfast was intended to last the week.  We shall need a fleet of boats to provision the fellow if he keep us company long.  How is it, friend Benteen, are we to enjoy the pleasure of associating with this human alligator, or do we now part company?”

“That is not yet determined,” I replied, smiling at the look of consternation with which he regarded him.  “I will sound the man on the subject, while he appears in good humor.”

I crossed the narrow plat of grass to where our guest sat facing the remains of his late feast, a look of satisfaction visible upon his withered countenance.

“My good friend,” he exclaimed, observing my approach, “there seems an over-preponderance of spices in this cured meat; otherwise it meets my cordial approbation, although your Southern cookery has a peculiarly greasy flavor to one of my taste in food.”