deepened even as he
held out his hand again. He knew that it was not embarrassment. It was
the heat of the fire back of her eyes. "It's--funny," he said, making
an effort to redeem himself with a lie and smiling. "You rather amaze
me. You see, I have been told this St. Pierre is an old, old man--so
old that he can't stand on his feet or go with his brigades, and if
that is the truth, it is hard for me to picture you as his wife. But
that isn't a reason why we should not be friends. Is it?"

He felt that he was himself again, except for the three days' growth of
beard on his face. He tried to laugh, but it was rather a poor attempt.
And St. Pierre's wife did not seem to hear him. She was looking at him,
looking into and through him with those wide-open glowing eyes. Then
she sat down, out of reach of the hand which he had held toward her.

"You are a sergeant of the police," she said, the softness gone
suddenly out of her voice. "You are an honorable man, m'sieu. Your hand
is against all wrong. Is it not so?" It was the voice of an inquisitor.
She was demanding an answer of him.

He nodded. "Yes, it is so."

The fire in her eyes deepened. "And yet you say you want to be the
friend of a stranger who has tried to kill you. WHY, m'sieu?"

He was cornered. He sensed the humiliation of it, the impossibility of
confessing to her the wild impulse that had moved him before he knew
she was St. Pierre's wife. And she did not wait for him to answer.

"This--this Roger Audemard--if you catch him--what will you do with
him?" she asked.

"He will be hanged," said David. "He is a murderer."

"And one who tries to kill--who almost succeeds--what is the penalty
for that?" She leaned toward him, waiting. Her hands were clasped
tightly in her lap, the spots were brighter in her cheeks.

"From ten to twenty years," he acknowledged. "But, of course, there may
be circumstances--"

"If so, you do not know them," she interrupted him. "You say Roger
Audemard is a murderer. You know I tried to kill you. Then why is it
you would be my friend and Roger Audemard's enemy? Why, m'sieu?"

Carrigan shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. "I shouldn't," he
confessed. "I guess you are proving I was wrong in what I said. I ought
to arrest you and take you back to the Landing as soon as I can. But,
you see, it strikes me there is a big personal element in this. I was
the man almost killed. There was a mistake,--must have been, for as
soon as you put