"May I speak to him?" asked de Fresne suddenly.
"If you promise not to touch the ropes," answered Magloire.
"I promise," said de Fresne.
He came up to the tree, whiter than Aymar himself. "La Rocheterie, aren't you going to try to save yourself? The bargain—what was it? You must reveal it now!"
Aymar looked at him gravely. "Mon ami, I cannot."
De Fresne smote his empty hands together. "Tell them something! I cannot do anything more. It rests with you alone now."
L'Oiseleur shook his head. "What I should tell them would do me no good in their eyes—though it was not dishonourable. And even if it would save me, I would not tell them—now. . . . No, leave me to my fate, de Fresne . . . but try to get them to be quick about it!"
"You should never have shown them the letter!" said his lieutenant, tears in his eyes. "I would rather have let them think that I was to blame. If only I had not come back . . . if only I had not brought the letter! Oh, my God, to see you there like that . . . it is too dreadful!"
"No, you are not to blame," replied Aymar steadily, though de Fresne's words made the ropes seem tighter. "You acted as an honest man in coming back to me with the letter . . . I can't shake hands with you now . . . I would like you to keep my sword if you will?"
De Fresne looked hard at him, nodded, dashed the back of his hand over his eyes, and, turning away without another word, carried his agitation and, evidently, his arguments, into the midst of the discussion which was going forward, with obvious differences of opinion and with frequent glances towards the beech tree.