“You threatened me yonder––before La Barre.”
“I spoke wildly, in anger. That passion has passed––now I appeal to your manhood.”
He glanced about, to assure himself we were alone.
“You are a sly wench,” he said, laughing unpleasantly, “but it may be best that I give you your own way for this once. There is time enough in which to teach you my power. And so you shut the tent to me, fair lady, in spite of your pledge to Holy Church. Ah, well! there are nights a plenty between here and St. 114 Ignace, and you will become lonely enough in the wilderness to welcome me. One kiss, and I leave you.”
“No, Monsieur.”
His eyes were ugly.
“You refuse that! Mon Dieu! Do you think I play? I will have the kiss––or more.”
Furious as the man was I felt no fear of him, merely an intense disgust that his hands should touch me, an indignation that he should offer me such insult. He must have read all this in my eyes, for he made but the one move, and I flung his hand aside as easily as though it had been that of a child. I was angry, so that my lips trembled, and my face grew white, yet it was not the anger that stormed.
“Enough, Monsieur––go!” I said, and pointed to where the fires reddened the darkness. “Do not dare speak to me again this night.”
An instant he hesitated, trying to muster courage, but the bully in him failed, and with an oath, he turned away, and vanished. It was nearly dark then, and I sat down on a blanket at the entrance, and waited, watching the figures between me and the river. I did not think he would come again, but I did not know; it would be safer if I could have word with Chevet. A soldier brought me food, and when he returned for the tins I made him promise to seek my uncle, and send him to me.