And then I laughed. I looked him full in the face and laughed again.
"But I have no prisoner. Unless, indeed, matrimony be a sort of
bondage. I travel with my wife, with Madame de Montlivet, née
Starling, monsieur."
I knew that I had cut him in a vital part, but he held himself well. An oath burst from him, but it did not move his great, immobile face into betraying lines. Yet when he tried to speak his voice trailed off in an unmeaning rattle. He tried twice, and his hands were sweat-beaded. Then he heaved his great bulk upward and stood over me, his baboon arms reaching for my throat.
"The marriage was honest? Speak."
I could respect that feeling. "Father Nouvel married us," I replied. "We found him at the Pottawatamie Islands. I marvel that you did not hear news of us from there, monsieur."
He sank back on the blanket. "I did not go there. I sprained my ankle." He talked still with that curious rattling in his voice. "I lost time and the damned Indians left me. When did you discover"——
"I married madame as soon as I discovered. Monsieur, you are of her family. I can assure you that I have shown your cousin all the respect and consideration in my power."
He looked at me as if I were some smirking carpet knight who prated of conventions when a man was dying.
"Where is she?"
"In my camp, monsieur."
"Take me to her."