f M.
de Tonty's hand on my shoulder, and the slight pressure brought me
courage.

"What is it you desire me to tell, Monsieur?"

"The story of your midnight visit to the Mission garden at St. Ignace,
the night Hugo Chevet was killed. Tell it in your own words, Madame."

As I began my voice trembled, and I was obliged to grip the arms of
the chair to keep myself firm. There was a mist before my eyes, and I
saw only De Artigny's face, as he leaned forward eagerly listening.
Not even he realized all I had witnessed that night, and yet I must
tell the truth--the whole truth, even though the telling cost his
life. The words came faster, and my nerves ceased to throb. I read
sympathy in De Baugis' eyes, and addressed him alone. Twice he asked
me questions, in so kindly a manner as to win instant reply, and once
he checked Cassion when he attempted to interrupt, his voice stern
with authority. I told the story simply, plainly, with no attempt at
equivocation, and when I ceased speaking the room was as silent as a
tomb. De Baugis sat motionless, but Cassion stared at me across the
table, his face dark with passion.

"Wait," he cried as though thinking me about to rise. "There are
questions yet."

"Monsieur," said De Baugis coldly. "If there are questions it is my
place to ask them."

"Ay," angrily beating his hand on the board, "but it is plain to be
seen the woman has bewitched you. No, I will not be denied; I am
Commandant here, and with force enough behind me to make my will law.
Scowl if you will, but here is La Barre's commission, and I dare you
ignore it. So answer me, Madame--you saw De Artigny bend over the body
of Chevet--was your uncle then dead?"

"I know not, Monsieur; but there was no movement."

"Why did you make no report?--was it to shield De Artigny?"

I hesitated, yet the answer had to be made.

"The Sieur de Artigny was my friend, Monsieur. I did not believe him
guilty, yet my evidence would have cast suspicion upon him. I felt it
best to remain still, and wait."

"You suspected another?"

"Not then, Monsieur, but since."

Cassion sat silent, not overly pleased with my reply, but De Baugis
smiled grimly.

"By my faith," he said, "the tale gathers interest. You have grown to
suspicion another since, Madame--dare you name the man?"

My eyes sought the face of De Tonty, and he nodded gravely.

"It can do no harm, Madame," he muttered softly. "Put the paper in De
Baugis' hand."

I drew it