“He lives. I can tell you no more. It is not so much you are asked to do. No one will be the wiser; no one worse off than before.”
The girl’s heart beat fast; her hands trembled. “Take me back. I will answer as I can, monsieur, as my conscience approves.” This time she did not refuse the hand which led her through the hall back to the room where the others awaited her. She approached with steady step the table by which her questioner stood. “I am ready,” she said.
“You are well acquainted with Louis Mercier, with Gerard Mercier, his reputed son; with Pierre Boutillier, the reputed nephew of M. Thauvet?” The question was put without preliminary.
“I know them,” Alaine answered, without hesitation.
“They are friends and are upholders of Jacob Leisler?”
“Yes.”
“They are refugees from France, and have interested themselves in raising soldiers for the defence of New York?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever heard them say how many were with Leisler in the fort?”
Alaine was silent.