De Berquin laughed. "Am I, then, such a fool as to think that the wary Tournoire could be put off his guard by a man? No, no. The governor or Montignac was wise in choosing a woman for that delicate task. It is only by a Delilah that a Samson can be caught!" "Monsieur," I said, with ironical admiration, "you are indeed as artful in your lies as you are bold. You have constructed a story that every circumstance seems to bear out. Yet one circumstance you have forgotten, or you are not aware of it. It destroys your whole edifice. The father of Mlle. de Varion is now a prisoner, held by the governor's order, on a charge of treason for having harbored Huguenots. Would his daughter undertake to do the work of a spy and a traitor for that governor against a Huguenot? Now for your ingenuity, monsieur!" "Such things have been known," he answered, not at all discomfited. "His daughter may not have her father's weakness for Huguenots, and if she bears resentment against the governor on her father's account, her desire of the reward may outweigh that resentment. Covetousness is strong in women. You would not expect great filial devotion in a hired spy and traitress. Moreover, for all I know, this woman may not be Mlle. de Varion, although Montignac so named her to me. She may have assumed that character at his suggestion, in order to get your confidence and sympathy, not daring to pretend to be a Huguenot, lest some habitual act might betray the deception." "Enough, M. de Berquin," I said. "I do your wit the credit of admitting that so well-wrought a lie was never before told. Only two things prevent its being believed. It is to me that you tell it, and it is of Mlle. de Varion! You complained a while ago of being chilly. Let us now warm ourselves!"