"No witch," he replied smoothly, "yet sufficiently akin to seal thy doom, were I to reveal thy secret dealings with one at whose name all Brittany shudders. And thou thyself hast been no mean pupil, my sister—therefore——" The significant pause was sufficient, and the unfortunate girl covered her face in her hands as she moaned out— "Nay, spare me the taunt, Guillaume. It is true I have sinned, and yet I am no witch, before Heaven I am no witch. Did I not flee from the beldame’s accursed dwelling in very terror from such deeds as they would have me do? Nay, brother, little I knew with what black terror I played, I, a motherless girl, led astray by one whom I had deemed a friend." "A fair friend," he sneered, "truly a fair friend; but enough. That thou didst flee is known to me; that thou wert _there_ shall be known, ay, and proved to the world if thou art obstinate, and thou shalt pay the penalty as surely as if thou wert as truly a servant of Satan as any hag who gathers nightly on the sands of Seville or around the nut tree of Benevento." Diane crossed herself, white to the lips, whilst her eyes crept to his face with the fear of a dog who looks up in very terror of the lash he knows he shall see descending. "What is thy will?" she whispered mechanically, as she read no sign of relenting in the hard face before her. He smiled triumphantly. "Thou wilt obey?" "I will obey." "That is well, but for the rest, thou knowest very well my will, and wherefore thou camest hither." She shuddered. "Still," continued her brother, "if thou wilt hear it again I will repeat our plan, _our_ plan, thou mindest, Diane, which thou helpedst me to form so cleverly at Pontivy." "I had not known him then," she cried with a little sob, "and—and he loves me well."