’Poleon Doret gazed fixedly, curiously at the speaker.  He nodded his head.  A peculiar, set, hopeless look crept into his eyes; his broad shoulders sagged wearily.  He had traveled far and swiftly on this young man’s affairs; he had slept but little; and now a great fatigue mastered him.  Oddly enough, too, that fierce, consuming desire to see Rouletta which had hourly gnawed at him was gone; all at once he felt that she was quite the last person he wished to face.  This weakness, this smallness of spirit, was only temporary, he assured himself; it would soon pass, and then he would find the strength to go to her with his customary smile, his mask in place.  Now, however, he was empty, cheerless, frightened by the portent of this new thing.  It could have but one significance—­it meant that he would lose his “sister,” that she would have no further need of him.

Well, that was all right.  It was something like this that he had worked for.  Why cherish a mean envy of this happy boy?  Why permit a narrow selfishness to mar this supreme moment?

Doret was not a grudging giver; he straightened himself finally, and into his tired eyes there came the gleam that Phillips had been waiting for.

“Bien!” he breathed.  “My li’l bird goin’ wear de plumage she deserve.  She’s goin’ be reech an’ happy all her life.  By golly!  Dat’s nice, for fac’.  I feel lak gettin’ drunk.”

“She’d never stand for that.”

“I spec’ you tol’ her you an’ me is pardners on dis Frenchman’ Hill, eh?  An’ she’s glad ’bout dat—­”

“Oh, see here!” Pierce’s tone changed abruptly.  “Of course I didn’t tell her.  That’s cold; it’s off.  D’you think I’d permit—­” The boy choked and stammered.  “D’you imagine for a minute that I’d let you go through with a proposition like that?  I understand why you made it—­to get me away from the life I’ve been leading.  It was bully of you, but—­well, hardly.  I’m not that sort.  No, I’ve laid off the old stuff, absolutely—­straightened out.  I’ve lived ten years in the last ten days.  Wait and see.  ’Poleon, I’m the happiest, the most deliriously happy man you ever saw.  I only want one thing.  That’s work and lots of it—­the harder the better, so long as it’s honest and self-respecting.  What d’you think of that?”

“W’at I t’ink?” the woodsman said, warmly.  “I t’ink dat’s de bes’ news of all.  Mon ami, you got reecher pay-streak in you as Frenchman’ Hill, if only you work ’im hard.  But you need pardner to get ‘im out.”  He winked meaningly.  “I guess mebbe you fin’ dat pardner, eh?”

Pierce flushed; he nodded vigorously and laughed in the purest, frankest joy.  “You’re a good guesser.  A partner—­life partner!  I—­ She—­Oh, my Lord!  I’m overflowing!  I’m—­Funny thing, I’ve never said a word to her; she doesn’t know—­”

“Ho, ho!” cried the elder man.