"And then, monsieur, you did me the honour to come to my own country. We
did not meet in the fighting, and you killed my brother." Iberville
crossed himself. "Then"--his voice was hard and bitter--"you were
captured; no longer a prisoner of war, but one who had broken his parole.
You were thrown into prison, were tried and condemned to death. There
remained two things: that you should be left to hang, or an escape--that
we should meet here and now."
"You chose the better way, monsieur."
"I treat you with consideration, I hope, monsieur." Gering waved his
hand in acknowledgment, and said: "What weapons do you choose?"
Iberville quietly laid on the table a number of swords. "If I should
survive this duel, monsieur," questioned Gering, "shall I be free?"
"Monsieur, escape will be unnecessary."
"Before we engage, let me say that I regret your brother's death."
"Monsieur, I hope to deepen that regret," answered Iberville quietly.
Then they took up their swords.
CHAPTER XXIII
AT THE GATES OF MISFORTUNE
Meanwhile the abbe and Jessica were making their way swiftly towards the
manor-house. They scarcely spoke as they went, but in Jessica's mind was
a vague horror.
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