“You must answer for such insinuations, Captain de Galisonniere.”

“But not to you, my friend.  My sword will be needed in the coming war, and I’m not called upon to dull it now against one who was a principal in a murderous conspiracy.  I may be over particular about those with whom I fight, de Courcelles, but I am what I am.”

“You mean you will not fight me?”

“Certainly not.  A meeting would cause the reasons for it to be threshed out, and we are not so many here in Canada that those reasons would not become known to all, and you, I fancy, would not relish the spread of such knowledge.  The Intendant is a powerful man, but the Marquis Duquesne is the head of our military life, and he would not be pleased to hear what one of his officers so high in rank has done here tonight.”

All the blood left de Courcelles’ face, and he shook with anger, but he knew in his heart that de Galisonniere spoke the deadly truth.  Besides, the whole plan had gone horribly wrong.  And it had been so well laid.  Who could have thought that a wandering hunter would appear at such a time, take the whole affair into his hands, and prove himself a better swordsman than Boucher, who was reputed not to have had his equal in France.  It was the one unlucky chance, in a million!  Nay, it was worse!  It was a miracle that had appeared against them, and in that de Galisonniere had told the truth.  Rage and terror stabbed at his heart, rage that the plan laid so smoothly had failed, and terror for himself.  No, he would not challenge de Galisonniere.

“You will notice, de Courcelles,” said the young Captain, “that Boucher is approaching exhaustion.  Perhaps not another man in the world could have withstood his tremendous offense so well, but the singular hunter seems to be one man in a world, at least with the sword.  Now, the seconds will give them a little rest before they close once more, and, I think, for the last time.”

“For God’s sake, de Galisonniere, cease!  It’s bad enough without your unholy glee!”

“‘Bad enough’ and ‘unholy glee,’ de Courcelles!  Not at all!  It’s very well, and my pleasure is justified.  I fear that villany is not always punished as it should be, and seldom in the dramatic manner that leaps to the eye and that has the powerful force of example.  Ah, a foul blow before the seconds gave the word!  Boucher has gone mad!  But you and I won’t trouble ourselves about him, since he will soon pay for it.  I think I see a change in the hunter’s eye.  It has grown uncommonly stern and fierce.  He has the look of an executioner.”

De Galisonniere had read aright.  When the treacherous blow was dealt and turned aside barely in time, Willet’s heart hardened.  If Boucher lived he would live to add more victims to those who had gone before.  The man’s whole fiber, body and mind, was poison, nothing but poison, and the murdered three whom Willet had known cried upon him to take vengeance.  He began to press the bravo and Boucher’s followers were silent.  De Galisonniere was not the only one who had marked the change in the hunter’s eye.