For a moment he did not break the silence, and I glanced up, wondering why he should hesitate. His face was grave, no longer appearing, as was its wont, young and careless, but marked by thought and perplexity. Something strong and earnest in the character of the man, brought forth by this emergency, seemed to stamp itself on his features. If I had ever before imagined him to be a mere reckless youth, with that moment such conception vanished, and I knew I was to rely on the experience of a man––a man trained in a rough wilderness school, yet with mind and heart 149 fitted to meet any emergency. The knowledge brought me boldness.
“You would question me, Monsieur,” I asked doubtfully. “It was for that you led me here?”
“Yes,” instantly aroused by my voice, but with eyes still scanning the trail. “And there is no time to waste, if I am to do my part intelligently. You must return below before the sun disappears, or Monsieur Cassion might suspect you had lost your way. You have sought me for assistance, counsel perhaps, but this state of affairs has so taken me by surprise that I do not think clearly. You have a plan?”
“Scarcely that, Monsieur. I would ascertain the truth, and my only means of doing so is through a confession by Francois Cassion.”
“And he is too cold-blooded a villain to ever acknowledge guilt. To my mind the methods of Chevet would be most likely to bring result.”
“But not to mine, Monsieur,” I interrupted earnestly. “The man is not so cold-blooded as you imagine. Arrogant he is, and conceited, deeming himself admired, and envied by all, especially my sex. He has even dared boast to me of his victims. But therein lies his very weakness; I would make him love me.”
He turned now, and looked searchingly into my face, no glimpse of a smile in the gray eyes.
“Pardon; I do not understand,” he said gravely. “You seek his love?”
I felt his manner a rebuke, a questioning of my honesty, and swift indignation brought the answering words to my lips.