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it so plainly marked them as arrogant and bigoted ingrates who even in the deadliest of danger could not forget their prejudices. It would be best if their position was brought home in a single, sharp lesson.
    Still, he hesitated a moment as the idea took form in his mind. He was not certain whether it was prompted by the need to make these people aware of their dependence upon him, by sheer petty vengeance, or by something more that he did not care to name. Did it matter, in all truth? The impulse was too strong to be denied.
    “I have no price,” he said slowly. “All I require is the usual services.”
    “I don’t believe I understand.” The expression of the merchant who had become their spokesman was wary as he glanced from Reynaud’s intent face to the others.
    “It is the custom among the Natchez to supply male guests with a woman to see to their needs: to cook for them, to refill their food bowls, and to warm their bed furs on a cold night, whether in the village or on long hunts.”
    “You are saying that we should supply you with a woman, a Frenchwoman?”
    “What objection can there be?” Reynaud asked, one brow raised in polite inquiry. “There is one here who is acceptable to me, a widow not unaware of the ways of men.”
    “Why, you bastard!”
    Reynaud’s voice was soft as he spoke. “Is it too much to ask, too great an exchange for your lives?”
    Elise stared at Reynaud with the last vestiges of blood draining from her face and congealing in her veins. Madame Doucet stirred and gave a soft moan, but she did not notice. Coldness spread from the center of her being and she could hardly breathe. Her stiff lips formed a single word. “No.”
    Reynaud expected her swift objection, had set himself to listen to an impassioned appeal. If she had approached him in that vein as a civilized man, if she had asked him to reconsider, then he would have abandoned the suggestion on the instant, with apologies. Instead, he saw the horrified loathing in her face and felt his purpose harden. If she was so ready to think him the complete savage, what had he to lose by acting like one?
    “I am to understand you do not think it too much to ask?” His voice carried a hint of steel in its quiet irony. “How generous of you, Madame Laffont. I will accept your sacrifice.”
    “No!” she cried.
    “Wait, Madame Laffont, we must not be too hasty.” The merchant’s tone was soothing, almost oily, as if he thought her needlessly upset but considered it unwise to disturb her further.
    St. Amant, his face pale, looked at her, then away again. “It’s a question of — of life or death.”
    “It’s m-monstrous,” Henri declared, moving to stand protectively at Elise’s left shoulder as he glared at Reynaud. “That you c-can suggest it is beyond belief!”
    Indeed, it seemed so to Reynaud, and yet as he stated down at Elise Laffont he felt a tightness in his loins, an urgent need to hold her against him until the frantic disgust on her face turned to soft compliance. He wanted her, had wanted her from the moment her glance had clashed with his across the dining room of Commandant Chepart’s house the night before. That instant of self-knowledge played havoc with his resolve.
    “He can suggest it,” Elise said with venom, “because he is a monster indeed, a vile mongrel lower even than the Natchez who at least act out of righteous anger.”
    Reynaud’s head came up and his features hardened. “One capable of leaving you to meet that anger, if such should be your decision.”
    “Leave me then! Only take the others!”
    “Now how can I do that?” he asked, his voice soft. “Madame Doucet is a worthy woman, but no substitute for someone of your — charms.”
    Elise clenched her hands upon Madame Doucet’s arm and wrist so that the older woman groaned and opened her eyes to stare around in pain and bewilderment. There had been times before in her life when Elise had wanted desperately to strike out at a