A long, heavy sigh filled the room, but it was not the breath of Vanne
Castine. The sound came from the corner where the huge brown bear
huddled in savage ease. When it stirred, as if in response to Shangois's
song, the chains rattled. He was fastened by two chains to a staple
driven into the foundation timbers of the house. Castine's bear might
easily be allowed too much liberty!

Once he had killed a man in the open street of the City of Quebec,
and once also he had nearly killed Castine. They had had a fight and
struggle, out of which the man came with a lacerated chest; but since
that time he had become the master of the bear. It feared him; yet, as
he travelled with it, he scarcely ever took his eyes off it, and he never
trusted it. That was why, although Michael was always near him, sleeping
or waking, he kept him chained at night.

As Shangois sang, Castine's brow knotted and twitched and his hand
clinched on his pipe with a sudden ferocity.

"Name of a black cat, what do you sing that song for, notary?" he broke
out peevishly. "Nose of a little god, are you making fun of me?"

Shangois handed him some tea. "There's no one to laugh--why should I
make fun of you?" he asked, jeeringly, in English, for his English was
almost as good as his French, save in the turn of certain idioms.
"Come, my little punchinello, tell me, now, why have you come back?"

Castine laughed bitterly.

"Ha, ha, why do I come back? I'll tell you." He sucked at his pipe.