Wrapped in my blankets I saw De Artigny emerge from the darkness, and approach Cassion, who drew a map from his belt pocket, and spread it open on the ground in the glare of the fire. The two men bent over it, tracing the lines with finger tips, evidently determining their course for the morrow. Then De 203 Artigny made a few notes on a scrap of paper, arose to his feet, and disappeared.
They had scarcely exchanged a word, and the feeling of enmity between them was apparent. Cassion sat quiet, the map still open, and stared after the younger man until he vanished in the darkness. The look upon his face was not a pleasant one.
Impelled by a sudden impulse I arose to my feet, the blanket still draped about my shoulders, and crossed the open space to the fire. Cassion, hearing the sound of my approach, glanced around, his frown changing instantly into a smile.
“Ah, quite an adventure this,” he said, adopting a tone of pleasantry. “The first time you have left your tent, Madame?”
“The first time I have felt desire to do so,” I retorted. “I feel curiosity to examine your map.”
“And waited until I was alone; I appreciate the compliment,” and he removed his hat in mock gallantry. “There was a time when you would have come earlier.”
“Your sarcasm is quite uncalled for. You have my pledge relative to the Sieur de Artigny, Monsieur, which suffices. If you do not care to give me glimpse of your map, I will retire again.”
“Pouf! do not be so easily pricked, I spoke in jest. Ay, look at the paper, but the tracing is so poor ’tis no 204 better than a guess where we are. Sit you down, Madame, so the fire gives light, and I will show you our position the best I can.”
“Did not De Artigny know?”
“He thinks he does, but his memory is not over clear, as he was only over this course the once. ’Tis here he has put the mark, while my guess would be a few leagues beyond.”