"He has been banished from his home for some offence," the Lieutenant answered quietly. "Your father forbids the mention of the name Crocans. It is reasonable to infer that the offence is connected with them, and, in a word, that your brother has done what any young man with generous instincts and a love of adventure might do. He has joined them. I do not blame him." "You do not blame him?" she murmured. Never had she heard such words of the Crocans--except from her brother. "You mean that?" "I say it and mean it," the Lieutenant replied. But he spoke without emotion, emotion was not his forte. "Nor am I alone," he went on, "in holding such opinions. But the point, mademoiselle, is this. I wish to find a means of communicating with them, and he can and probably will be willing to aid me. For certain, if the worst comes to the worst, I can aid him." Bonne's heart beat rapidly. She did not--she told herself that she did not distrust him. Had it been her own secret he was seeking she would have delivered it to him freely. But the manner in which he had borne himself while he thought himself alone, the possession of the map, and the shrewdness with which he had traced her brother's movement and surprised a secret that was still a secret from the household, frightened her. And her very inexperience made her pause. "But first, I take it, you need his aid?" she murmured. "I wish to speak with him." "Have you seen my father?" He opened his eyes and bent a little nearer. "Do you mean, mademoiselle----" "I mean only," she said gently, "that if you express to him the views on the Crocans which you have just expressed to me, your opportunities of seeing my brother will be scant." He laughed. "I have not opened them to him," he said. "I have seen him, and whether he thinks that he was a little more exigent last night than the danger required, or he desires to prove to me that midnight alarms are not the rule at Villeneuve, he has not given me notice to go. His invitation to remain is not, perhaps," he smiled slightly, "of the warmest. But if you, mademoiselle, will second it----" She muttered--not without a blush--that it would give her pleasure. And he proceeded, "Then no difficulty on that point will arise." She stooped lower over her work. What was she to do? He wanted that which she had decided she must not give him. Just that! What was she to do? She was so long in answering, that he dubbed her awkward and mannerless. And thought it a pity, too; for she was a staunch sister, and had shown herself resourceful; and in repose her face, though brown and sunburnt, was not without grace. He came to the point. "May I count on you for this?" he asked bluntly. "For--what?" "That as soon as you can you will bring me face to face with your brother?" She looked up and met his gaze. "As soon as I think it safe to do so," she said, "I will. You may depend on me."