This, then, explained it all. She had undertaken to betray me, but it was to save her father! I remembered now. They had wanted a spy "who would have all to lose by failure." Such were Montignac's words at the inn at Fleurier. A spy, too, who might gain a wary man's confidence, and with whom a rebel captain might desire or consent to a meeting away from his men. Hardly had their need been uttered when there came mademoiselle to beg a pardon for her father. A woman, beautiful and guileless, whom any man might adore and trust, of whom any man might beg a tryst; a woman, whose father was already in prison, his fate at the governor's will; a woman, inexperienced and credulous, easily made to believe that her father's crime was of the gravest; a woman, dutiful and affectionate, willing to purchase her father's life and freedom at any cost. What better instrument could have come to their hands? Her anxiety to save her father would give her the powers of dissimulation necessary to do the work. Her purity and innocence were a rare equipment for the task of a Delilah. Who would suspect her of guile and intrigue any more than I had done? And now, having gone as far as she had in the task, she had abandoned it. Even to save her father, she would no more play the traitress against me! Against _me_! She loved me, then! Her task had become intolerable. She must relieve herself of it. Yet as long as La Chatre still supposed that she was carrying it out, she would feel bound by her obligation to him. She must free herself of that obligation. She had made a compact with him, she had given him her word. Though she resolved not to betray me, she would not betray him either. He must no longer rely on her for the performance of a deed that she had cast from her. She must not play false even with him. All must hereafter be open and honest with her. The first step towards regaining her self-respect was to see the governor and renounce the commission. Then, but not till then, would she dare confess all to me. I saw all this in an instant, as she had felt it, for people do not arrive at such resolutions slowly and by reason, but instantly and by feeling. And all that she had done and suffered had been to save her father! Had I but told her at once of my intention to deliver him, if possible, all this, and my own hours of torment, might have been avoided. From what little things do events take their course! I rejoiced, I say, behind the curtains, on learning the truth. What matter if we met death together in the enemy's stronghold, now that she was pure and loved me? And yet, if we could but find a way out of this, and save her father as well, what joy life would have!