‘Ay, but I have more,’ he cried, his voice stubbornly triumphant. ‘I forgot that you would think little of that. I forgot that a swordsman has always the ladies’ hearts---but I have more. Do you know, too, that he is in the Cardinal’s pay? Do you know that he is here on the same errand which brings us here--to arrest M. de Cocheforet? Do you know that while we go about the business openly and in soldier fashion, it is his part to worm himself into your confidence, to sneak into Madame’s intimacy, to listen at your door, to follow your footsteps, to hang on your lips, to track you--track you until you betray yourselves and the man? Do you know this, and that all his sympathy is a lie, Mademoiselle? His help, so much bait to catch the secret? His aim blood-money--blood-money? Why, MORBLEU!’ the Lieutenant continued, pointing his finger at me, and so carried away by passion, so lifted out of himself by wrath and indignation, that I shrank before him--‘you talk, lady, of contempt and abhorrence in the same breath with me, but what have you for him--what have you for him--the spy, the informer, the hired traitor? And if you doubt me, if you want evidence, look at him. Only look at him, I say.’ And he might say it; for I stood silent still, cowering and despairing, white with rage and hate. But Mademoiselle did not look. She gazed straight at the Lieutenant. ‘Have you done?’ she said. ‘Done?’ he stammered; her words, her air, bringing him to earth again. ‘Done? Yes, if you believe me.’ ‘I do not,’ she answered proudly. ‘If that be all, be satisfied, Monsieur. I do not believe you.’ ‘Then tell me this,’ he retorted, after a moment of stunned surprise. ‘Answer me this! Why, if he was not on our side, do you think that we let him remain here? Why did we suffer him to stay in a suspected house, bullying us, annoying us, thwarting us, taking your part from hour to hour?’ ‘He has a sword, Monsieur,’ she answered with fine contempt. ‘MILLE DIABLES!’ he cried, snapping his fingers in a rage. ‘That for his sword! It was because he held the Cardinal’s commission, I tell you, because he had equal authority with us. Because we had no choice.’ ‘And that being so, Monsieur, why are you now betraying him?’ she asked. He swore at that, feeling the stroke go home. ‘You must be mad!’ he said, glaring at her. ‘Cannot you see that the man is what I tell you? Look at him! Look at him, I say! Listen to him! Has he a word to say for himself?’ Still she did not look. ‘It is late,’ she replied coldly. ‘And I am not very well. If you have done, quite done--perhaps, you will leave me, Monsieur.’ ‘MON DIEU! he exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders, and grinding his teeth in impotent rage. You are mad! I have told you the truth, and you will not believe it. Well--on your head be it then, Mademoiselle. I have no more to say! You will see.’