The time had been when Louizon was proud of any notice this siren conferred on him.  But so exacting and tyrannical is the nature of man that when he got her he wanted to keep her entirely to himself.  From his Chippewa mother, who, though treated with deference, had never dared to disobey his father, he inherited a fond and jealous nature; and his beautiful wife chafed it.  Young Repentigny saw that she was like a Parisian.  But Louizon felt that she was a spirit too fine and tantalizing for him to grasp, and she had him in her power.

He hung his powderhorn behind the door, and stepped upon a stool to put his gun on its rack above the fireplace.  The fire showed his round figure, short but well muscled, and the boyish petulance of his shaven lip.  The sun shone hot upon the Sault of an August noon, but morning and night were cool, and a blaze was usually kept in the chimney.

“You found plenty of game?” said his wife; and it was one of this woman’s wickedest charms that she could be so interested in her companion of the moment.

“Yes,” he answered, scowling more, and thinking of the brace on the gallery whom he had not shot, but wished to.

She laughed at him.

“Archange Cadotte,” said Louizon, turning around on the stool before he descended; and she spread out her skirts, taking two dancing steps to indicate that she heard him.  “How long am I to be mortified by your conduct to Monsieur de Repentigny?”

“Oh—­Monsieur de Repentigny.  It is now that boy from France, at whom I have never looked.”

“The man I would have you look at, madame, you scarcely notice.”

“Why should I notice him?  He pays little attention to me.”

“Ah, he is not one of your danglers, madame.  He would not look at another man’s wife.  He has had trouble himself.”

“So will you have if you scorch the backs of your legs,” observed Archange.

Louizon stood obstinately on the stool and ignored the heat.  He was in the act of stepping down, but he checked it as she spoke.

“Monsieur de Repentigny came back to this country to marry a young English lady of Quebec.  He thinks of her, not of you.”

“I am sure he is welcome,” murmured Archange.  “But it seems the young English lady prefers to stay in Quebec.”

“She never looked at any other man, madame.  She is dead.”

“No wonder.  I should be dead, too, if I had looked at one stupid man all my life.”

Louizon’s eyes sparkled.  “Madame, I will have you know that the seignior of Sault Ste. Marie is entitled to your homage.”

“Monsieur, I will have you know that I do not pay homage to any man.”

“You, Archange Cadotte?  You are in love with a new man every day.”

“Not in the least, monsieur.  I only desire to have a new man in love with me every day.”

Her mischievous mouth was a scarlet button in her face, and Louizon leaped to the floor, and kicked the stool across the room.