"
De Courcelles flushed, bit his lip and was silent.
"Very pretty! Very pretty!" sneered Boucher, "but French gentlemen are
the best judges of their own manners and morals. You have your sword,
sir, and I have mine. Here is a fine open space, well lighted by the
moon, and no time is better than the present. Will you draw, sir?"
"He will not," said a voice over Robert's shoulder, which he instantly
recognized as that of the hunter. He felt suddenly as if a great wall
had been raised for his support. He was no longer alone among plotting
enemies.
"And why will he not, and what affair is it of yours?" asked Boucher,
his manner threatening.
Willet took a step forward, his figure towering and full of menace. Just
behind him was Tayoga. Robert had never seen the hunter look taller or
more charged with righteous wrath. But it was an anger that burned like
a white hot flame, and it was alive with deadly menace.
"He will not draw because he was brought here to be assassinated by you,
bully and bravo that you are," replied Willet, plumbing the very depths
of Boucher's eyes with his stern gaze.
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