"Justice and mercy," murmured the voice from the bed.
"Thou shalt keep the faith of food and blanket." Again Pierre paused.
"And a man shall have no cause to fear his friend," said the voice again.
The pause was longer this time, and Pierre's cold, handsome face took on a kind of softness before he said, "Remember the sorrow of thine own wife."
"It is a good commandment," said the sick man, "to make all women safe whether they be true—or foolish."
"The strong should be ashamed to prey upon the weak. Pshaw! such a sport ends in nothing. Man only is man's game."
Suddenly Pierre added: "When you thought you were going to die, you gave me some papers and letters to take to Quebec. You will get well. Shall I give them back? Will you take them yourself?"
Fawdor understood: Pierre wished to know his story. He reached out a hand, saying, "I will take them myself. You have not read them?"
"No. I was not to read them till you died—bien?" He handed the packet over.
"I will tell you the story," Fawdor said, turning over on his side, so that his eyes rested full on Pierre.