Gaspard stood back against the wall, holding the stool with its legs bristling towards Sainte-Helene.  He shook from head to foot.

“Have I done anything to frighten you?  What is the matter with me, Gaspard, that people should treat me as they do?  It is unbearable!  I take the hardest work, the most dangerous posts; and they are against me—­against me.”

The soldier lifted his clenched fists, and turned his back on the old man.  The fire showed every curve of his magnificent stature.  Wind, diving into the chimney, strove against the sides for freedom, and startled the silence with its hollow rumble.

“I forded the St. Charles when the tide was rising, to take you back with me to the fort.  I see you dread the New Englanders less than you do me.  She told her father she feared you were ill.  But every one is well,” said Sainte-Helene, lowering his arms and making for the door.  And it sounded like an accusation against the world.

He was scarcely outside in the wind, though still holding the door, when Gaspard was ready to put up the bar.

“Good-night, old man.”

“Good-night, monsieur, good-night, good-night!” called Gaspard, with quavering dispatch.  He pushed the door, but Sainte-Helene looked around its edge.  Again the officer’s face had changed, pinched by the wind, and his eyes were full of mocking laughter.

“I will say this for a loup-garou, Father Gaspard:  a loup-garou may have a harder time in this world than the other beasts, but he is no coward; he can make a good death.”

Ashes spun out over the floor, and smoke rolled up around the joists, as Sainte-Helene shut himself into the darkness.  Not satisfied with barring the door, the old habitant pushed his chest against it.  To this he added the chair and stool, and barricaded it further with his night’s supply of firewood.

“Would I go over the ford of the St. Charles with him?” Gaspard hoarsely whispered as he crossed himself.  “If the New England men were burning my house, I would not go.  And how can a loup-garou get over that water?  The St. Charles is blessed; I am certain it is blessed.  Yet he talked about fording it like any Christian.”

The old habitant was not clear in his mind what should be done, except that it was no business of his to meddle with one of Frontenac’s great officers and a noble of New France.  But as a measure of safety for himself he took down his bottle of holy water, hanging on the wall for emergencies, and sprinkled every part of his dwelling.

Next morning, however, when the misty autumn light was on the hills, promising a clear day and penetrating sunshine, as soon as he awoke he felt ashamed of the barricade, and climbed out of bed to remove it.

“The time has at last come when I am obliged to go to the fort,” thought Gaspard, groaning.  “Governor Frontenac will not permit any sorcery in his presence.  The New England men might do me no harm, but I cannot again face a loup-garou.”