Bateese grinned.  It was a huge grin, for his mouth was big.  “You ver’ lucky fellow,” he announced.  “You sleep lak that in nice sof bed an’ not back on san’-bar, dead lak ze feesh I bring you, m’sieu.  That ees wan beeg mistake.  Bateese say, ’Tie ze stone roun’ hees neck an’ mak’ heem wan Ange de mer.  Chuck heem in ze river, ma belle Jeanne!’ An’ she say no, mak heem well, an’ feed heem feesh.  So I bring ze feesh which she promise, an’ when you have eat, I tell you somet’ing!”

He returned to the door and brought back with him a wicker basket.  Then he drew up the table beside Carrigan and proceeded to lay out before him the boiled fish which St. Pierre’s wife had promised him.  With it was bread and an earthen pot of hot tea.

“She say that ees all you have because of ze fever.  Bateese say, ‘Stuff heem wit’ much so that he die queek!’”

“You want to see me dead.  Is that it, Bateese?”

“Oui.  You mak’ wan ver’ good dead man, m’sieu!” Bateese was no longer grinning.  He stood back and pointed at the food.  “You eat—­ queek.  An’ when you have finish’ I tell you somet’ing!”

Now that he saw the luscious bit of whitefish before him, Carrigan was possessed of the hungering emptiness of three days and nights.  As he ate, he observed that Bateese was performing curious duties.  He straightened a couple of rugs, ran fresh water into the flower vases, picked up half a dozen scattered magazines, and then, to David’s increasing interest, produced a dust-cloth from somewhere and began to dust.  David finished his fish, the one slice of bread, and his cup of tea.  He felt tremendously good.  The hot tea was like a trickle of new life through every vein in his body, and he had the desire to get up and try out his legs.  Suddenly Bateese discovered that his patient was laughing at him.

“QUE Diable!” he demanded, coming up ferociously with the cloth in his great hand.  “You see somet’ing ver’ fonny, m’sieu?”

“No, nothing funny, Bateese,” grinned Carrigan.  “I was just thinking what a handsome chambermaid you make.  You are so gentle, so nice to look at, so—­”

“Diable!” exploded Bateese, dropping his dust cloth and bringing his huge hands down upon the table with a smash that almost wrecked the dishes.  “You have eat, an’ now you lissen.  You have never hear’ before of Concombre Bateese.  An’ zat ees me.  See!  Wit’ these two hands I have choke’ ze polar bear to deat’.  I am strongest man w’at ees in all nort’ countree.  I pack four hundre’ pound ovair portage.  I crack ze caribou bones wit’ my teeth, lak a dog.  I run sixt’ or hundre’ miles wit’out stop for rest.  I pull down trees w’at oder man cut wit’ axe.  I am not ’fraid of not’ing.  You lissen?  You hear w’at I say?”

“I hear you.”