“Most faithfully, Monsieur, I swear to you,” answered the old man, taking the Rebel’s hand in his, “will your wishes be carried out.  More than this, I can almost promise you that I shall succeed.”  And then he went to fetch a bottle, in which he had some choice old rye.  While he was away, M. Riel, who was alone—­for all were absent in the fields, and his comrade had been abroad since the grey dawn—­began to muse in this wise: 

“So he believes that he can triumph—­that Marie will yield!” Then he ground his teeth like a wild beast and swore a terrible oath.  “If she yield—­ah! but it is a feast for me to contemplate my revenge.  Raise her to the dignity of wife to share my social honours and triumph.  No; elle sera ma maitresse; and I shall cast her off among the worthless and degraded ones of her sex.”  Then Marie’s father entered with the liquor, and pledged his fealty to Monsieur with many “salutes” and “bonne santes” After M. Riel had taken sufficient liquor to make him thoroughly daring, he said with a sinister tone: 

“Although it may not be your honour ever to call me your son-in-law, your duty in persuading your daughter remains the same.  We have formed a compact of friendship and mutual understanding; yet I must say to you that your own personal safety depends upon your compliance; depends” he repeated, raising his voice till it sounded like the bellowing of an infuriated bull, “upon your success.  Your intimacy with this man Scott, together with the visit paid to your house by the man Mair, places you entirely at my mercy.  Before many days I shall call again to see how far you have succeeded.  I shall expect a report of some progress.  When I call after that I shall be satisfied with nothing short of triumph.  I now go, leaving my warning to ring in your ears till you see me again.”  And with an air of insolent mastery, and a gross light in his eye, he seized his fowling-piece, and strode out the door, followed by his dog.

“Mon Dieu!” gasped the terrified half-breed, “I thought that we had become friends, but he goes from my door like an enemy, filling my ears with threats of vengeance.  May the Virgin protect my Marie and me from his power.”

“Has that terrible man gone, mon pere?” enquired Marie, who now entered with sorrow and agitation in her face.

“Yes; but you must not speak against him.  O, how I fear him; that is to say, ma petite fille, he is a very powerful man, a great man, and will one day rule all the people, and be in eminence like unto one of the Canadian Governors:  therefore, it is that it was unfortunate the young man Scott should ever have been at our house.”

“Ah, mon pere! wherefore?  Do you regret having extended a trifling hospitality, not better than you would accord to a wandering savage, to a brave, honest, honourable young man, who, at the risk, of his own life, saved the life of your child?  O, surely you have not received into your ears the poison of this man’s cunning and malice;” and she threw her arms about her father’s neck and sobbed, and sobbed there as if her heart would burst.  Old Jean was moved to deep grief at the affliction of his daughter, yet he could offer her no word of comfort.