until he comprehended I had misled him.
I could almost put his thought in words. Together we arose, laying
each our hands upon the half-closed door, he to hold it, I to open it,
steady-eyed, and each reluctant to cause the breach we knew must come.

"Placide, the papers are not here," he said in a quiet tone, yet full
of determination.

"I know it."

"Why have you deceived me then?" for he could mask his purposes no
longer, "Hand me those dispatches."

"No. My orders are to place them in the hands of Serigny."

"But I must have them."

"And I tell you as firmly, you can not."

"Listen, Captain," he begged in altered tones, "those dispatches may
compromise Celeste. Let us take from them anything which implicates
her in this miserable intrigue, and deliver the rest. That is easy. I
can open and close them again so it can not be told."

"My orders are not to open them."

"By God, you will!" he burst out with volcanic fury, "no, no; I am too
hot. We can lose them; tell Serigny they were never found; tell him
Yvard carried them off; tell him he never had them. We can fix a tale."

"It would be a long story, and a liar must needs have a good memory."

I was playing for time, time to think, time to get away.

"But I will go with you to Serigny," he insisted, "tell the lie and
make him to believe. 'Pshaw, man, you know not the ways of the world,
at least not at the Court of France."

"Think, Jerome, of the war, of our people in the colonies, of our
honor?"

"I care not for it all," the wild passion in his voice made me almost
fear him. "All that is as nothing to me where Celeste is concerned.
Oh, Placide, think of it! I love her, love her, love her--do you
comprehend what that means to such a man as I? I, who have loved her
almost from her birth, have seen her taken from me and sold--yes, sold
by her money-loving father, sold, sold! I, who have borne all her
husband's leers when, flushed with the insolence of rank and wine, this
shriveled bridegroom bore her as a piece of ornament to his house in
Paris. Can I bear to lose her now?

"But, Jerome, you would not be such a coward as to permit our brethren
in the colonies to be slaughtered, while you tell your pitiful lie to
shield a woman? It can not be done. What a fool you are come to be.
Man, man, where is your courage?"

"I care not. Love for such a woman would make of Truth a liar, and of
Jove a fool. Think, Placide, think of her, Celeste,