“I will laugh again, even more loudly.”

“He will strike you . . . even as I did.”

D’Herouville spat.  “Leave me, Monsieur.  My wound may open again, and that would put me back.”

“I advise you to take the air to-day.”

“I shall do so.”

They were very courtly in those old days.

So D’Herouville went forth to take the air that afternoon and incidentally to pay his respects in person to Madame de Brissac.  Fortune favored him, for he met her coming down the path from the upper town.  He lifted his hat gravely and barred her path.

“Madame, my delight at seeing you is inexpressible.”

Madame’s countenance signified that the delight was his alone; she shared no particle of it.  She knew that eventually their paths would cross again, but she had prepared no plans to meet this certainty.  Her gaze swerved from his and rested longingly on the Henri IV in the harbor.  She had determined to return to France upon it.  The amazing episode of the night before convinced her that her safety lay rather in France than in Canada.  But she had confided this determination to no one, not even to Anne.

“Have you no welcome, Madame?”

“My husband’s friends,” she said, “were not always mine; and I see no reason why you should continue further to address me.”

“De Brissac?  Bah!  I was never his friend.”

“So much the more doubt upon your honesty;” and she moved as if to pass.

“Madame, D’Halluys told me this morning that he is determined that you shall be his wife.”

“The vicomte’s confidence is altogether too large.”  She laughed, and made another ineffectual attempt to pass.  “Monsieur, you are detaining me.”

“That is correct.  I have much to say to you.  In the first place, you played us all for a pack of fools, and all the while you were carrying on an intrigue with that fellow who calls himself the Chevalier du Cevennes.”

Madame’s lips closed firmly, and a circle of color spotted her cheeks.  There had been times recently when she regretted De Brissac’s death.

“What have you to say, Madame?” he demanded.

“To you?  Nothing, save that if you do not at once stand aside I shall call for aid.  Your impertinence is even greater than Monsieur d’Halluys’.  I wonder at your courage in thus addressing me.”

“I am not a patient man, Madame,” coming closer.  “I have publicly vowed my love for you, and Heaven nor hell shall keep me from you.”

“Not even myself?  Come, Monsieur,” wrathfully, “you are acting like a fool or a boy.  Women such as I am are not won in this braggart fashion.  Certainly you must admit that I have something to say in regard to the disposition of my hand.  And let me say this at once:  I shall wed no man; and were either you or Monsieur le Comte the last man in the world, I should run away and hide.  Stand aside.”