st thing
I ever did. You ever had a buoyant spirit, madame."

"Monsieur," she rejoined, with feeling, "will you let me answer that
question for you now? The bravest and greatest thing you ever did was to
give a woman back her happiness."

"Have I done so?"

"In your heart, yes, I believe. A little while ago my husband's life and
freedom were in your hands--you will place them in mine now, will you
not?"

Iberville did not reply directly. He twisted his wineglass round, sipped
from it pleasantly, and said: "Pardon me, madame, how were you admitted
here?"

She told him.

"Singular, singular!" he replied; "I never knew Perrot fail me before.
But you have eloquence, madame, and he knew, no doubt, that you would
always be welcome to my home."

There was that in his voice which sent the blood stinging through
Gering's veins. He half came to his feet, but his wife's warning,
pleading glance brought him to his chair again.

"Monsieur, tell me," she said, "will you give my husband his freedom?"

"Madame, his life is the State's."

"But he is in your hands now. Will you not set him free? You know that
the charge against him is false--false. He is no spy. Oh, monsieur,
you and he have been enemies, but you know that he could not do a
dishonourable thing."

"Madame, my charges against him are true."

"I know what they are," she said earnestly, "but this strife is not
worthy of you, and it is shaming me. Monsieur, you know I speak truly.

"You called me Pierre a little while ago," he said; "will you not now?"

His voice was deliberate, every word hanging in its utterance. He had
a courteous smile, an apparent abandon of manner, but there was devilry
behind all, for here, for the first time, he saw this woman, fought for
and lost, in his presence with her husband, begging that husband's life
of him. Why had she called him Pierre? Was it because she knew it would
touch a tender corner of his heart? Should that be so--well, he would
wait.

"Will you listen to me?" she asked, in a low gentle voice.

"I love to hear you speak," was his reply, and he looked into her eyes
as he had boldly looked years before, but his gaze made hers drop. There
was revealed to her all that was in his mind.

"Then, hear me now," she said slowly. "There was a motherless young
girl. She had as fresh and cheerful a heart as any in the world. She had
not many playmates, but there was one young lad who shared her sports
and pleasant hours,