into the dirt with his heel. It contained a woman's hair. Then,
muttering, his hands still twitching with savage feeling, he picked up
his cap, covered with dirt, put it on, and passed away down the road
towards the river, the little bell tinkling as he went. Those who heard
it had a strange feeling, for already to them the man was as if he had
some baleful disease, and this little bell told of the passing of a
leper.

Yet some one man had worn just such a bell every year in Pontiac. It was
the mark of honour conferred upon a voyageur by his fellows, the token of
his prowess and his skill. This year Luc Pomfrette had won it, and that
very day it had been buckled round his leg with songs and toasts.

For hours Pomfrette walked incessantly up and down the river-bank,
muttering and gesticulating, but at last came quietly to the cottage
which he shared with Henri Beauvin. Henri had removed himself and his
belongings: already the ostracising had begun. He went to the bedroom of
old Mme. Burgoyne, his cousin; she also was gone. He went to a little
outhouse and called.

For reply there was a scratching at the door. He opened it, and a dog
leaped out and upon him. With a fierce fondness he snatched at the dog's
collar, and drew the shaggy head to his knee; then as suddenly shoved him
away with a smothered oath, and going into the house, shut the door. He
sat down in a chair in the middle of the room, and scarcely stirred for
half an-hour. At last, with a passionate jerk of the head, he got to his
feet, looking about the room in a half-distracted way. Outside, the dog
kept running round and round the house, silent, watchful, waiting for the
door to open.