"When I fell on my knees, and told him how incapable my father was of harm or disloyalty, he at first showed annoyance, and said that my pleading would be useless. My father must be treated as an example, he said. To succor traitors was treason, to shield heretics was heresy, and there was no doubt that the judges would condemn him to death, to furnish others a lesson. He was then going to leave me, but his secretary came forward and said that I had come at an opportune moment, an instrument sent by Heaven. Was I not, he asked the governor, some one who had much to gain or much to lose? Then La Chatre became joyful, and said that there was a way--one only--by which I might free my father. Eagerly I begged to know that way, but with horror I refused it when I learned that it was to--to hunt down a certain Huguenot captain, to make him trust me, and to betray him. For a time I would not hear his persuasions. Then he swore that, if I did not undertake this detestable mission, my father should surely die; and he told me that you were a deserter, a traitor, an enemy to the church and to the King, I had heard your name but once or twice, and I remembered it only as one who had worked with daring and secrecy in the interests of the Huguenots. He described my father tortured and killed, his body hanging at the gates of Fleurier, blown by the wind, and attacked by the birds. Oh, it was terrible! All this could be avoided, my father's liberty regained, by my merely serving the King and the church. He gave his word that, if I betrayed you, my father should be released without even a trial. You can understand, can you not? You were then a stranger to me, and my father the most gentle and kindly of men, the most tender and devoted of fathers." "I understood already when I stood behind the curtain, sweetheart," said I. "When you came," she went on, "and asked whither I was bound, I made my first attempt at lying. I wonder that you did not perceive my embarrassment and shame when I said that the governor had threatened to imprison me if I did not leave the province. It was the best pretext I could give for leaving Fleurier while my father remained there in prison, though they would not let me see him. It occurred to me that you must think me a heartless daughter to go so far from him, even if it were, indeed, to save my life." "I thought only that you were an unhappy child, of whose inexperience and fears the governor had availed himself; and that, after all, was the truth. From the first moment when I knew that you were the daughter of M. de Varion, I was resolved to attempt his rescue; but I kept my intention from you, lest I might fail."