As they entered the Iroquois village the squaws and warriors had rushed towards them, and they passed through a double line of hideous faces which jeered and jibed and howled at them as they passed.  Their escort led them through this rabble and conducted them to a hut which stood apart.  It was empty, save for some willow fishing-nets hanging at the side, and a heap of pumpkins stored in the corner.

“The chiefs will come and will decide upon what is to be done with us,” said Onega.  “Here they are coming now, and you will soon see that I am right, for I know the ways of my own people.”

An instant later an old war-chief, accompanied by two younger braves and by the bearded half-Dutch Iroquois who had led the attack upon the manor-house, strolled over and stood in the doorway, looking in at the prisoners, and shooting little guttural sentences at each other.  The totems of the Hawk, the Wolf, the Bear, and the Snake showed that they each represented one of the great families of the Nation.  The Bastard was smoking a stone pipe, and yet it was he who talked the most, arguing apparently with one of the younger savages, who seemed to come round at last to his opinion.  Finally the old chief said a few short stern words, and the matter appeared to be settled.

“And you, you beldame,” said the Bastard in French to the Iroquois woman, “you will have a lesson this night which will teach you to side against your own people.”

“You half-bred mongrel,” replied the fearless old woman, “you should take that hat from your head when you speak to one in whose veins runs the best blood of the Onondagas.  You a warrior?  You who, with a thousand at your back, could not make your way into a little house with a few poor husbandmen within it!  It is no wonder that your father’s people have cast you out!  Go back and work at the beads, or play at the game of plum-stones, for some day in the woods you might meet with a man, and so bring disgrace upon the nation which has taken you in!”

The evil face of the Bastard grew livid as he listened to the scornful words which were hissed at him by the captive.  He strode across to her, and taking her hand he thrust her forefinger into the burning bowl of his pipe.  She made no effort to remove it, but sat with a perfectly set face for a minute or more, looking out through the open door at the evening sunlight and the little groups of chattering Indians.  He had watched her keenly in the hope of hearing a cry, or seeing some spasm of agony upon her face, but at last, with a curse, he dashed down her hand and strode from the hut.  She thrust her charred finger into her bosom and laughed.

“He is a good-for-nought!” she cried.  “He does not even know how to torture.  Now, I could have got a cry out of him.  I am sure of it.  But you—­monsieur, you are very white!”

“It was the sight of such a hellish deed.  Ah, if we were but set face to face, I with my sword, he with what weapon he chose, by God, he should pay for it with his heart’s blood.”