even in a place like Paris?"

"I didn't take public opinion into account. I was reckless of its
injustice, as I was careless of its applause. I see now, however, that
indifference to either brings its punishment."

"Those are abstract ideas, and I'm trying to deal with concrete facts.
Isn't it true that George Eveleth was a rich man when you married him,
and that your extravagance ruined him?"

"It helped to ruin him. I plead guilty to that. I had no knowledge of
the value of money; but I don't offer that as an excuse."

"Isn't it true that the Marquis de Bienville was your lover, and that
you were thinking of deserting your husband to go with him?"

"It's true that the Marquis de Bienville asked me to do so, and that I
was rash enough to turn him into ridicule. I shouldn't have done it if I
had known that there was a man in the world capable of taking such a
revenge upon a woman as he took on me."

"What revenge?"

"The revenge you're executing at this minute. He said--what very few
men, thank God, will say of a woman, even when it's true, and what it
takes a dastard to say when it's not true. Even in the case of the
fallen woman there's a chivalrous human pity that protects her; while
there's something more than that due to the most foolish of our sex who
has not fallen. I took it for granted that, at the worst, I could count
on that, until I met your friend. His cup of vengeance will be full when
he learns that he has given you the power to insult me."

"I don't mean to insult you," he said, in a dogged voice, "but I mean,
if possible, to know the truth."

"I'm not concealing it. I'm ready to tell you anything."

"Then, tell me this: isn't it the case that when George Eveleth
discovered your relations with Bienville, he challenged him?"

"It's the case that he challenged him, not because of what he
discovered, but of what Monsieur de Bienville said."

"At their encounter, didn't Bienville fire into the air--?"

"I've never heard so."

"And didn't George Eveleth fall from a self-inflicted shot?"

"No. He died at the hand of the Marquis de Bienville."

"So you told me once before, though you didn't tell me the man's name.
But, Diane, aren't you convinced in your heart that George Eveleth knew
that which made his life no longer worth the living?"

"Do you mean that he knew something--about me?"

"Yes--about you."

"That's the most cruel charge Monsieur de Bienville has invented yet."

"Suppose he