When he saw Hamilton going by, bearing himself so superbly, it affected the French volatility in his nature to such an extent that his tongue could not be controlled.
"Va t'en, bete, forban, meurtrier! Skin out f'om here! beast, robber, murderer!" he cried, in his keen screech-owl voice.

"I'll git thet scelp o' your'n afore sundown, see 'f I don't! Ye onery gal-killer an' ha'r buyer!" The blood in Hamilton's veins caught no warmth from these remarks; but he held his head high and passed stolidly on, as if he did not hear a word.

Helm turned the tail of an eye upon Oncle Jazon and gave him a droll, quizzical wink of approval.

In response the old man with grotesque solemnity drew his buckhorn handled knife, licked its blade and returned it to its sheath,--a bit of pantomime well understood and keenly enjoyed by the onlooking creoles.
"Putois! coquin!" they jeered, "goujat! poltron!" Beverley heard the taunting racket, but did not realize it, which was well enough, for he could not have restrained the bitter effervescence.
He stood like a statue, gazing fixedly at the now receding figure, the lofty, cold-faced man in whom centered his hate of hates.

Clark had requested him to be present at the conference in the church; but he declined, feeling that he could not meet Hamilton and restrain himself.
Now he regretted his refusal, half wishing that--no, he could not assassinate an enemy under a white flag.