“Yes; he and a soldier named Barbeau.”
The fellow stood silent, shifting his feet.
“’Twas told us he was dead,” he said finally, with effort. “Some more of La Barre’s men arrived three days ago by boat, under a popinjay they call Cassion 291 to recruit De Baugis’ forces. De la Durantaye was with him from the portage, so that now they outnumber us three to one. You know this Cassion, Madame?”
“Ay, I traveled with his party from Montreal.”
“Ah, then you will know the truth no doubt. De Tonty and Cassion were at swords points over a charge the latter made against Rene de Artigny––that he had murdered one of the party at St. Ignace.”
“Hugo Chevet, the fur trader.”
“Ay, that was the name. We of La Salle’s company know it to be a lie. Sacre! I have served with that lad two years, and ’tis not in his nature to knife any man in the back. And so De Tonty said, and he gave Cassion the lie straight in his teeth. I heard their words, and but for De Baugis and De la Durantaye, Francois Cassion would have paid well for his false tongue. Now you can tell him the truth.”
“I shall do that, but even my word, I fear, will not clear De Artigny of the charge. I believe the man to be innocent; in my heart there is no doubt, yet there is so little to be proven.”
“Cassion speaks bitterly; he is an enemy.”
“Monsieur Cassion is my husband,” I said regretfully.