She looked at me with wistful quiet. In her strange gown she seemed saddened, matured. And she answered me gravely. "Monsieur, please understand. My cousin and I---- Why, we traveled side by side in the Iroquois canoes. He served me, was careful of me; he--he has suffered for me, monsieur. I was hard to him for a long time,--a longer time than I like to remember. But I could not but listen to his explanation. And, whatever he did, he is, after all, my cousin, and he regrets deeply all that happened. As to this gown,--it is one I wore in Boston. My cousin brought it in his canoe and left it here at the garrison when he went west. Monsieur"---- "Yes, madame." "Monsieur, I was wrong when I suspected my cousin. I have an unkind nature in many ways. He came here to find me,--for that alone. He honors you greatly for all you have done for me. I hope that you will give him opportunity to thank you as he wishes." I thought of Starling's great voice, his air of power. "I hope to meet your cousin," I replied. It was a churlish return, and she had been gentle. The chill that fell between us was of my making. I knew that with every second of silence I was putting myself more deeply in the wrong. But I had to ask one thing more. "Madame, they tell me here that you say that you regret our marriage,--that I forced you to bear my name. Have you said that?" I could not be blind to the hurt in her face. "Monsieur, how can you ask?" And then I was shamed. I knelt again to her hand. "Only to prove in open words that Lord Starling lied. Did you think I doubted? No, madame, no woman of our house has ever had finer pride or a truer instinct. Believe me, I see that. But so the story flies. Madame, all eyes are on us. We must define the situation in some manner as regards the world. May I talk to you of this?" The hand under my lips grew warm. "Monsieur, we are to wait. When we reach Montreal"---- "But, madame! These intervening months! It will be late autumn before we return to Montreal." She drew in her breath. "Late autumn! Monsieur, what are your plans? You forget that I know nothing. And tell me of your escape." I rose and looked down at her. "We have both escaped," I said, and because emotion was smiting me my voice was hard. "Let us not talk of it. I see that you are here, and I thank God. But I cannot yet bring myself to ask what you have been through. I cannot face the horror of it for you. I beg you to understand." But it was I who did not understand when she drew away. "As you will," she agreed, and there was pride in her great eyes, but there was a wound as well. "Yet why," she went on, "should a knowledge of human tragedy harden a woman? It strengthens a man. But enough. Monsieur, have you heard--the lady of the miniature is at Montreal?" I was slow, for I was wondering how I had vexed her. "You never saw the miniature," I parried. "How can you connect a name with it, madame?"