“What is the meaning of this, M. de Tonty?” he exclaimed, with no pretense at friendliness. “A rather early morning call, regarding which I was not even consulted. Have husbands no rights in this wilderness paradise?”
“Such rights as they uphold,” returned the Italian, erect and motionless. “I am always at your service, M. Cassion. Madame and I have conversed without permission. If that be crime I answer for it now, or when you will.”
It was in Cassion’s heart to strike. I read the desire in his eyes, in the swift clutch at his sword hilt; but the sarcastic smile on De Tonty’s thin lips robbed him of courage.
“’Tis best you curb your tongue,” he snarled, “or I will have you in the guardhouse with De Artigny. I command now.”
“So I hear. Doubtless you could convict me as easily.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that your whole case is a tissue of lies.”
“Pah! you have her word for it, no doubt. But you will all sing a different song presently. Ay, and it will be her testimony which will hang the villain.”
“What is this you say, Monsieur––my testimony?”