"Is it so ?" he said between his teeth: "Radisson--Radisson, as I live!" He had seen a man cross a corner of the yard.

This man was short, dark-bearded, with black, lanky hair, brass earrings, and buckskin leggings, all the typical equipment of the French coureur du bois.
Iberville had only got one glance at his face, but the sinister profile could never be forgotten.

At once the man passed out of view.

The girl had not seen him, she had been watching her companion.

Presently she said, her fingers just brushing his sleeve, for he stood eyeing the point where the man had disappeared: "Wonderful! You look now as if you would fight.