a boast about me, in the
tavern at Montoire. It is a hideous lie, invented when Monsieur de Merri
had gone away. And now you see how only Monsieur de Merri can save me,
by coming and facing our accusers and swearing to my innocence. But
to-morrow is the last day. Oh, if he had known why I wanted him! It is
too late now--or is it? Perhaps he sent you ahead? Perhaps he is coming
after you? Is it not so? He will be here to-morrow, will he not?"

Bitterly I shook my head.

"Then I am lost," she said, in a whisper of despair.

"But that cannot be. It isn't for you to prove your innocence--it is for
your accuser to prove your guilt. He cannot do that."

"You do not know the Count de Lavardin. He will believe any ill of a
woman, and anything that Captain Ferragant tells him. The fact that
Monsieur de Merri is young and accomplished is enough. My husband has
suspected me from the hour of our marriage. And besides that, people at
Montoire have testified that they heard Monsieur de Merri boast of
conquests. Whether that be true or not, it could not have been of me
that he boasted. And if he but knew how I stand, how readily he would
fly to clear me! He is no coward, I am sure."

I had evidence of that: evidence also of Monsieur de Merri's unfortunate
habit of boasting of conquests. But I was convinced that it could not
have been of her that he had boasted. These thoughts, however, were but
transient flashings across my sense of the plight in which I had put
this unhappy woman by killing Monsieur de Merri. I tried to minimize
that plight.

"But your fears are exaggerated. Your husband will not dare go too far."

"He will dare take my life--or lock me up for the rest of my days in a
dungeon--or I know not what. He is all-powerful on his estate--lord of
life and death. You know what these great noblemen do when they believe
their wives unfaithful. I have heard how the Prince de Conde--"

"Yes; but the Count de Lavardin would have your relations to fear."

"I have no relations. I was an orphan in a convent. The Count took a
fancy to my face, they told me. They urged me to consent to the
marriage. I could not displease them--I had never disobeyed them. And
now this is the end. Well, I am in the hands of God." She glanced
upwards and gave a sigh of bitter resignation.

"But after all," I interposed, "you are not certain how your husband
will act."

"He has threatened the worst vengeance if I cannot clear myself
to-morrow.