But Royce held back.
"There has been a crime committed," he said slowly. "We must see that it is punished."
"A crime? Oh, yes; but I forgive them, dear."
"The crime against yourself you may forgive; but there was another crime—murder——"
"There was no murder!" burst in Cécile Alix. "I swear it to you, monsieur. Do you understand? There was no murder!"
I saw Miss Holladay wince at the other's voice, and Royce saw it, too.
"I must get her to the inn," he said. "This is more than she can bear—I fear she will break down utterly. Do you stay and get the story, Lester. Then we'll decide what it is best to do."
He led her away, out of the house and down the path, not once looking back. I watched them till the trees hid them, and then turned to the women.
"Now," I said, "I shall be happy to hear the story."
"It was that man yonder who was the cause of it all," began the mother, clasping her hands tightly in her lap to keep them still. "Four years ago he came from Paris here to spend the summer—he was ver' ill—his heart. We had been living happily, my daughter and I, but for the one anxiety of her not marrying. He met her and proposed marriage. He was ver' good—he asked no dowry, and, besides, my daughter was twenty-five years old—past her first youth. But she attracted him, and they were married. He took her back to Paris, where he had a little theater, a hall of the dance—but he grew worse again, and came back here. It was then that he found out that I had another daughter, whom I had given to a rich American. I was ver' poor, monsieur," she added piteously. "My man had died—"