"The secret concerns the night upon which Tomaso Crivelli died, and the will which on that night was forged by you, after the real will had been made away with. The secret also concerns the young man called Paul Lisimon. The man whom you dared to accuse of theft."
"How—how did you discover this?"
"No matter how. Enough that I did make the discovery. Shall I tell you now the price I ask for my secret?"
"Yes."
All attempts at insolence or defiance upon the part of the lawyer was now abandoned.
Silas Craig cowered before the Frenchwoman as humbly as the criminal who awaits the sentence of his judge.
"Don Juan Moraquitos will make me his wife and will share with me his own fortune. From him I ask no more than this. We shall leave America for Paris, and in the delight of my native city I shall endeavor to forget the sorrows of my youth. But although I am ambitious, I am not utterly selfish, and in my triumph I wish to secure the happiness of others. Those others are Camillia Moraquitos and the young man it has pleased Don Juan to call Paul Lisimon."
"How do they concern me?" asked Silas.
"You shall hear. By a foul and infamous plot, the details of which I do not know, but which is doubtless worthy of the person who has concocted it, you have contrived to brand the name of Paul Lisimon with infamy. You will reveal that plot. You will withdraw that shameful accusation; and you will insert an advertisement in every paper printed in New Orleans declaring that young man's innocence. You may call your plot a practical joke if you please. You are so universally beloved and respected that you will of course be believed. That is my first condition. Do you comply with it?"
Silas Craig bent his head. He had scarcely power to speak.