"Yes, M. de Sully," she answered. "And the man who is about to suffer is innocent."
"How was it done, then?" I asked, not knowing what to think of her persistence.
"My brother was flying a kite that day," she answered. "He had been doing so for a week or more, and everyone was accustomed to seeing him here. After sunset, the wind being favourable, he came under M. de Vilain's window, and, when it was nearly dark, and the servants and household were at supper, he guided the kite against the balcony outside the window."
"But a man cannot descend by a kite-string!"
"My brother had a knotted rope, which M. de Vilain drew up," she answered simply; "and afterwards, when he had descended, disengaged."
I looked at her in profound amazement.
"Your brother acted on instructions?" I said at last.
"On mine," she answered.
"You avow that?"
"I am here to do so," she replied, her face white and red by turns, but her eyes continuing to meet mine.