belief, then would come another
letter to her, telling her the child was living--but not where. So
she would keep on writing to the man, and sometimes she would go away
searching--searching. To what end? Nothing! She had a letter some months
ago, for she had got restless, and a young kinsman of the Seigneur had
come to visit at the seigneury for a week, and took much notice of her.
There was danger. Voila, another letter."

"From you?"

"Monsieur, of course! Will you keep a secret--on your sacred honour?"

"I can keep a secret without sacred honour."

"Ah, yes, of course! You have a secret of your own--pardon me, I am
only saying what every one says. Well, this is the secret of the woman
Paulette Dubois. My cousin, Robespierre Dauphin, a notary in Quebec,
is the agent of the lawyer, the father of the child. He pities the poor
woman. But he is bound in professional honour to the lawyer fellow,
not to betray. When visiting Robespierre once I found out the truth-by
accident.

"I told him what I intended. He gave permission to tell the woman her
child was alive; and, if need be for her good, to affirm it over and
over again--no more."

"And this?" said Charley, pointing to the injured leg, for he now
associated the accident with the secret just disclosed.

"Ah, you apprehend! You have an avocat's mind--almost. It was at Four
Mountains. Paulette is superstitious; so not long ago she went to live
there alone with an old half-breed woman who has second-sight. Monsieur,
it is a gift unmistakably. For as soon as the hag clapped eyes on me
in the hut, she said: 'There is the man that wrote you the letters.'
Well--what! Paulette Dubois came down on me like an avalanche--Monsieur,
like an avalanche! She believed the old witch; and there was I lying
with an unconvincing manner"--he sighed--"lying requires practice, alas!
She saw I was lying, and in a rage snatched up my gun. It went off by
accident, and brought me down. Did she relent? Not so. She helped to
bind me up, and the last words she said to me were: 'You will suffer;
you will have time to think. I am glad. You have kept me on the rack. I
shall only be sorry if you die, for then I shall not be able to torture
you till you tell me where my child is!' Monsieur, I lied to the last,
lest she should come here and make a noise; but I'm not sure it wouldn't
have been better to break faith with Robespierre, and tell the poor
wanton where her child is. What would you do, Mons