“Mon Dieu, this man was from that glorious civilization of yours, M’seur—­from that land to the south where they say that Christ’s temples stand on every four corners, but he could not understand the strange God and the strange laws of our people!  For months he had been away from the companionship of women, and in this great wilderness the Factor’s wife came into his life as the flower blossoms in the desert.  Ah, M’seur, I can see now how his wicked heart strove to accomplish the things, and how he failed because the glory of our womanhood up here has come straight down from Heaven.  And in failing he went mad—­mad with that passion of the race I have seen in Montreal, and then—­ah, the Great God, M’seur, do you not understand what happened next?”

Croisset lifted his head, his face twisted in a torture that was half grief, half madness, and stared at Howland, with quivering nostrils and heaving chest.  In his companion’s face he saw only a dead white pallor of waiting, of half comprehension.  He leaned over the table again, controlling himself by a mighty effort.

“It was at that time when most of us were out among the trappers, just before our big spring caribou roast, when the forest people came in with their furs, M’seur.  The post was almost deserted.  Do you understand?  The woman was alone in her cabin with the little Meleese—­and when we came back at night she was dead.  Yes, M’seur, she killed herself, leaving a few written words to the Factor telling him what had happened.

“The man and the boy escaped on a sledge after the crime. Mon Dieu, how the forest people leaped in pursuit!  Runners carried the word over the mountains and through the swamps, and a hundred sledge parties searched the forest trails for the man-fiend and his son.  It was the Factor himself and his youngest boy who found them, far out on the Churchill trail.  And what happened then, M’seur?  Just this:  While the man-fiend urged on his dogs the son fired back with a rifle, and one of his bullets went straight through the heart of the pursuing Factor, so that in the space of one day and one night the little Meleese was made both motherless and fatherless by these two whom the devil had sent to destroy the most beautiful thing we have ever known in this North.  Ah, M’seur, you turn white!  Does it bring a vision to you now?  Do you hear the crack of that rifle?  Can you see—­”

“My God!” gasped Howland.  Even now he understood nothing of what this tragedy might mean to him—­forgot everything but that he was listening to the terrible tragedy that had come to the woman who was the mother of the girl he loved.  He half rose from his seat as Croisset paused; his eyes glittered, his death-white face was set in tense fierce lines, his finger-nails dug into the board table, as he demanded, “What happened then, Croisset?”

Jean was eying him like an animal.  His voice was low.

“They escaped, M’seur.”