“Never!” replied she; “neither shall Le Gardeur!”
With a plunge of her horse she forced her way close to Le Gardeur, and, leaning over him, laid her hand upon his shoulder and exclaimed in a voice choking with passion,—
“Comment, Le Gardeur! vous souffrez qu'un Malva comme ça vous abîme de coups, et vous portez l'épée!” “What, Le Gardeur! you allow a ruffian like that to load you with blows, and you wear a sword!”
It was enough! That look, that word, would have made Le Gardeur slaughter his father at that moment.
Astonished at the sight of Angélique, and maddened by her words as much as by the blow he had received, Le Gardeur swore he would have revenge upon the spot. With a wild cry and the strength and agility of a panther he twisted himself out of the grasp of the habitans, and drawing his sword, before any man could stop him, thrust it to the hilt through the body of the Bourgeois, who, not expecting this sudden assault, had not put himself in an attitude of defense to meet it.
The Bourgeois fell dying by the side of the bleeding man who had just received his alms, and in whose protection he had thus risked and lost his own life.
“Bravo, Le Gardeur!” exclaimed De Pean; “that was the best stroke ever given in New France. The Golden Dog is done for, and the Bourgeois has paid his debt to the Grand Company.”
Le Gardeur looked up wildly. “Who is he, De Pean?” exclaimed he. “What man have I killed?”
“The Bourgeois Philibert, who else?” shouted De Pean with a tone of exultation.
Le Gardeur uttered a wailing cry, “The Bourgeois Philibert! have I slain the Bourgeois Philibert? De Pean lies, Angélique,” said he, suddenly turning to her. “I would not kill a sparrow belonging to the Bourgeois Philibert! Oh, tell me De Pean lies.”