re cold, but the coldness I knew was forced--else had she
not said "we harass ourselves." Instead of quelling my ardour, it gave
it fuel.

"True, mademoiselle," I cried, almost exultantly. "It can end but one
way!"

She caught my meaning, and her frown deepened. I went too fast, it
seemed.

"It had better end now, monsieur. There is too much between us. You
wagered to win me to wife." She shuddered. "I could never forget it."

"Mademoiselle," I denied stoutly, "I did not."

"How?" She caught her breath. "You did not?"

"No," I pursued boldly. "I did not wager to win you. I wagered to win
a certain Mademoiselle de Lavedan, who was unknown to me--but not you,
not you."

She smiled, with never so slight a touch of scorn.

"Your distinctions are very fine--too fine for me, monsieur."

"I implore you to be reasonable. Think reasonably."

"Am I not reasonable? Do I not think? But there is so much to think
of!" she sighed. "You carried your deception so far. You came here, for
instance, as Monsieur de Lesperon. Why that duplicity?"

"Again, mademoiselle, I did not," said I.

She glanced at me with pathetic disdain.

"Indeed, indeed, monsieur, you deny things very bravely."

"Did I tell you that my name was Lesperon? Did I present myself to
monsieur your father as Lesperon?"

"Surely--yes."

"Surely no; a thousand times no. I was the victim of circumstances in
that, and if I turned them to my own account after they had been
forced upon me, shall I be blamed and accounted a cheat? Whilst I was
unconscious, your father, seeking for a clue to my identity, made an
inspection of my clothes.

"In the pocket of my doublet they found some papers addressed to Rene de
Lesperon--some love letters, a communication from the Duc d'Orleans,
and a woman's portrait. From all of this it was assumed that I was
that Lesperon. Upon my return to consciousness your father greeted me
effusively, whereat I wondered; he passed on to discuss--nay, to tell me
of--the state of the province and of his own connection with the rebels,
until I lay gasping at his egregious temerity. Then, when he greeted
me as Monsieur de Lesperon, I had the explanation of it, but too late.
Could I deny the identity then? Could I tell him that I was Bardelys,
the favourite of the King himself? What would have occurred? I ask you,
mademoiselle. Would I not have been accounted a spy, and would they not
have made short work of me here at your chateau?"

"No