Bruce Dunvegan met Dreaulond in the store where he had his office as factor of the fort.
"What news?" he questioned, gripping Basil's brown palm.
"Dumarge she be taken," replied the smiling courier.
"When?" Pain not joy filled Dunvegan to his bewilderment. He began to think that he did not really understand himself or his feelings.
"'Fore I leave," Dreaulond responded. "De Factor send de word in de pacquet."
A startled, feminine cry echoed behind the men. Bruce swung on his heel. Her eyes brooding with half-formed fear, Desirée Lazard was regarding them.
The chief trader motioned her out. She did not obey.
"He has won? The Factor has won at last?" Her manner was that of a person who faces a calamity long-feared, hard-hated.
Dully Bruce nodded.
"The papers!" she exclaimed. "Open them! See when the force moves."