“You mean the same method you proposed to me back on the Ottawa?”
I faced him frankly, my eyes meeting his, no shade of hesitation in my voice.
“Yes, Monsieur, I mean that. You refused me before, but I see no harm, no wrong in the suggestion. If the men we fought were honorable I might hesitate––but they have shown no sense of honor. They have made me their victim, and I am fully justified in turning their own weapons against them. I have never hesitated in my purpose, and I shall not now. I shall use the weapons which God has put into my hands to wring from him the bitter truth––the weapons of a woman, love, and jealousy. Monsieur, am I to fight this fight alone?”
At first I thought he would not answer me, although his hand grip tightened, and his eyes looked down into mine, as though he would read the very secret of my heart.
“Perhaps I did not understand before,” he said at last, “all that was involved in your decision. I must know now the truth from your own lips before I pledge myself.”
“Ask me what you please; I am not too proud to answer.”
“I think there must be back of this choice of yours something more vital than hate, more impelling than revenge.”
“There is, Monsieur.”
“May I ask you what?”