“Is that not enough, Monsieur? I like you well; I would save you from injustice. You could not respect me if I said more, for I am Monsieur Cassion’s wife by rite of Holy Church. I do not fear him––he is a coward; but I fear dishonor, Monsieur, for I am Adele la Chesnayne. I would respect myself, and you.”
The light of conquest vanished from the gray eyes. For a moment he stood silent and motionless; then he drew a step backward, and bowed.
“Your rebuke is just, Madame,” he said soberly.
“We of the frontier grow careless in a land where might is right, and I have had small training save in camp and field. I crave your pardon for my offense.”
So contrite was his expression I had to smile, realizing for the first time the depth of his interest in my good will, yet the feeling which swayed me was not altogether that of pleasure. He was not one to yield so quietly, or to long restrain the words burning his tongue, yet I surrendered to my first impulse, and extended my hand.
“There is nothing to pardon, Sieur de Artigny,” I said frankly. “There is no one to whom I owe more of courtesy than you. I trust you fully, and believe your word, and in return I ask the same faith. Under the conditions confronting us we must aid each other. We have both made mistakes in thus endeavoring to shield one another from suspicion, and, as a result, are both equally in peril. Our being alone together here will enrage Monsieur Cassion, and he will use all his power for revenge. My testimony will only make your case more desperate should I confess what I know, and you might cast suspicion upon me––”
“You do not believe I would.”
“No, I do not, and yet, perchance, it might be better for us both if I made full confession. I hesitate merely because Cassion would doubt my word; would conclude that I merely sought to protect you. Before 228 others––fair-minded judges at St. Louis––I should have no hesitancy in telling the whole story, for there is nothing I did of which I am ashamed, but here, where Cassion has full authority, such a confession would mean your death.”
“He would not dare; I am an officer of the Sieur de la Salle.”