“’T was a moment ago,” I answered, in great good-humor at his discomfiture, “that you claimed wit was as important a factor as fleetness of foot in the winning of a race.  I did no more than illustrate your theory, Monsieur.”

The humor of it failed to touch him, and there was a direct menace in his manner which caused me to fall back a step in the narrow passage and front him warily.

“No boor of the woods shall laugh at me!” He exclaimed, his eyes aflame with passion, “be the cause love or war.  What mean all these sly tricks of speech and action?—­this hurried message to the ear of Mademoiselle?  By my faith, you did not even pause to wash the dust from off your face before you sought her company.  ’T is strange such intimacy could spring up between you in so short a time!  But mark you this, Master Wayland, once and for all; I have not voyaged here from Montreal to be balked in my plans by the interference of an uncouth adventurer.  I give you now fair warning that if you ever step again between Toinette and me, naught but the decision of steel shall end our quarrel.”

That he was indeed in deadly earnest, and indulged in no vain threat, I well knew; his passion was too strongly painted on his face.  My own temper rose in turn.

“I hear your words, Monsieur,” I returned coldly, “and care no more for them than for a child’s idle boasting.  There is naught between Mademoiselle and me that the whole world might not know.  We are good friends enough, but if by any chance love should be born from that friendship, no French gallant, though he sport a dozen swords, shall come between us.  Win her if you can by reckless audacity and lavishness of perfume, but dream not to frighten me away from her presence by the mutterings of bravado.  I am the son of a soldier, Monsieur, and have myself borne arms in battle.”

“You will fight, then?”

“With pleasure, whenever the occasion arises,” I replied slowly, struggling hard to keep back more bitter words.  “But I see none at present, and, if I mistake not, all our skill at arms will soon be needed to save this girl, as well as ourselves, from savage hands.”

I know not how we would have parted, for ’t was evidently his wish to goad me on to fight; and there are times when passion overwhelms us all.  But at that moment I heard the soft rustle of a dress, and wheeled to face the fair young wife of Lieutenant Helm.  It was plain she had been weeping; but De Croix, ever quicker than I in such matters, was first to accost her in words of courtesy.  A pretty face to him was instant inspiration.

“We bow to you, Madame,” he exclaimed with excessive gallantry, doffing his hat till it swept the stairs; “your coming makes the very sunshine a brighter gold.”

“I trust it may bring peace as well,” she answered, striving to smile back at him, although trouble yet shadowed her sweet face; “surely my ears caught the sound of harsh words.”