do not play the fool."

"Better the fool than the coward."

"Wait," said La Forest sharply, "the matter is not ended. You are
Francois Cassion, of Quebec?"

"Major of Infantry, Commissaire of the Governor La Barre."

"So the titles read in this document. I arrest you by King's order for
treason to France, and mutilation of official records. Here is the
warrant, M. de Baugis, and your orders to convey the prisoner to
Quebec for trial."

Cassion's face went white, and he struggled madly for breath. De
Baugis grasped the paper, so startled at this new development as to be
incapable of comprehension.

"Under arrest? for what, Monsieur? Treason, and mutilation of official
records? What does it mean?"

"This--the man knows, and will not deny the charge. False testimony
sworn to, and signed by this Francois Cassion, charged Captain la
Chesnayne with cowardice and treason. In consequence the latter was
broken of his command, and his estates forfeited to the Crown. Later,
through the efforts of Frontenac, the King was convinced of injustice,
and the estates were restored by royal order. This order reached
Quebec, but was never recorded. This Cassion was then private
secretary to the governor, and the paper came into his hands. Later,
to hush up the scandal, he married Captain la Chesnayne's daughter
against her will. The day this was accomplished the lost order was
placed on file."

"You saw it?"

"Yes, I had the files searched secretly. The order was dispatched from
France five years ago, but was stamped as received the day Cassion
departed from Quebec."

My eyes were upon the speaker and I failed to note how the accused
man met this damning charge. It was his voice which drew my
attention--high pitched, harsh, unnatural.

"_Mon Dieu!_ 'twas not I--'twas La Barre!"

"Tell that in Quebec; though little good 'twill do you. M. de Baugis,
in the King's name I order this man's arrest."

I saw De Baugis step forward, his hand outstretched; then all was
confusion and struggle. With the hoarse snarl of a beast, Cassion
leaped forward, struck La Forest with his shoulder, and drove sword
point into De Artigny. De Tonty gripped him, but was hurled aside by
insane strength, reeling back so that the weight of his body struck me
to my knees. The next instant, his sword-point dripping blood, the
runner was beyond reach, speeding for the open gate. What followed I
know from word of others, and no view I had of it.

De Artig