“Your chance of heaven, Monsieur, is remote.”  The setting sun came in through the door and filled her eyes with a golden haze.  If there was any fear, the pride on her face hid it.

“Ye gods, but you are a beauty!  I can wait no longer for that kiss.”

His leg slid from the table.  He walked toward her, and she shrank back till she met with the wall.  He sprang forward, laughing.  She struggled in his strong arms, uselessly.  With one hand he pressed up her chin and kissed her squarely on the lips.  Then he let her go.  She drew her hand across her mouth and spat upon the floor.

“What!  So soon, Madame?”

Her bosom rose and fell quickly, as much from rage and hate as from the exertion of the struggle.

“God will punish you, Monsieur, as he punishes all men who abuse their strength as you have done,—­punish you for the misery you have brought upon me.”

“What! and I bring you love?”

She wiped her lips again, this time on her sleeve.

“Does it burn like that, then?” laughing.

“It is poison,” simply.

Outside the Chevalier writhed and twisted and strained.  The agony!  She was alone in there, helpless.  To be free, free!  He wept, strove vainly to loose his bonds.  He cried aloud in his anguish.  And the vicomte heard him.  He came to the door where he could see his enemy in torture and at the same time prevent madame’s escape.

“Is that you, Chevalier?  Do you recollect the coin?  I am a generous debtor.  I am paying you a hundred for one.  Madame and I shall soon be on the way to Montreal.  Remember her kindly.  And you will tarry here till they find you, eh?”

“Vicomte, you were a brave man once.  Be brave again.  Do not torture me like this.  Take your sword and run it through my heart, and I shall thank you.”

Somberly the vicomte gazed down at him.  He drowned the glimmer of pity in the thought of how this man had thwarted him in the past.  “What!” he said, “spoil the comedy with a death-scene?  I am too much of an artist, Monsieur.  I had rather you should live.”  He went back into the hut.  “The Chevalier grows restive, like an audience which can not see what is going on behind the curtain.  Will you give me a kiss of your own volition, or must I use force again?  It is like sin; the first step leads to another.”

Madame stood passive.  She would have killed this man with laughter on her lips had a knife been in her hand.  He came toward her again.  She strove to put the table between.  He laughed, leaping the table lightly.  She fled to the door, but ere she had taken a dozen steps he was in front of her.  The Chevalier heard all these sounds.  He prayed to God to end his miseries quickly.

“One more kiss, and we take the river, you and I. We will find some outcast priest to ease your conscience.  The kisses will not be so fresh after that.”