“M. de Marsan,” he said quite gently, “you have proved it was not you who were the traitor, but d’Aurilly. I have yet to deal with him.”
“I have already dealt with him, M. le Comte,” and I smiled into his eyes, with a great lightening of the heart that he had forgiven me.
“Dealt with him?”
“With these hands,” I answered. “It was he who planned the whole affair. Roquefort had arranged for him to marry Mademoiselle. The wedding was to take place to-morrow.”
I could see Fronsac’s face turn purple.
“The hound!” he said between his teeth. “The hound!”
“I knew that he was dead,” said Mademoiselle. “Roquefort told me. But I did not know, Monsieur, that it was to you I was indebted for this deliverance. It is a great debt we owe you.”
“It was nothing,” I protested. “It was a joy to my heart to pull him down.”
“Tell us,” said M. le Comte simply.
So, as briefly as might be, I told them the story of what had happened in the torture-chamber.