Perrot chuckled. "These Le Moynes!" he said: under his breath. Then
aloud: "The lady first, monsieur."

"So," answered Iberville. "And Bucklaw--the devil, Bucklaw?"

"If you mean the rogue who gave you these," said Perrot, touching the
wounds, which he had already begun to bind, "I think he got away--the
light was bad."

Jessica would have torn her frock for a bandage, but Perrot said in his
broken English: "No, pardon. Not so. The cloak la-bas."

She ran and brought it to him. As she did so Perrot glanced down at her
feet, and then, with a touch of humour, said: "Pardon, but you have lost
your slipper, ma'm'selle?"

He foresaw the little comedy, which he could enjoy even in such painful
circumstances.

"It must have dropped off," said Jessica, blushing. "But it does not
matter."

Iberville blushed too, but a smile also flitted across his lips. "If you
will but put your hand into my waistcoat here," he said to her, "you will
find it." Timidly she did as she was bid, drew forth the slipper, and
put it on.

"You see," said Iberville, still faint from loss of blood, "a Frenchman
can fight and hunt too--hunt the slipper."