His hold relaxed, but he did not set her free.  “Was that duel fought on your account?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“In what way?”

She was silent.

“Answer me,” he said.

She clenched her hands in sudden, strenuous rebellion.  “I don’t know.  I never heard.”

“Was it because you had compromised yourself with Bertrand de Montville?”

Very deliberately he asked the question, so deliberately that she could not evade it.

“It is not fair to—­to put it like that,” she said.

“I am waiting to hear your own version,” he told her grimly.

“You have only heard Aunt Philippa’s, so far?” she hazarded.

“I have heard nothing whatever about what happened at Valpre from your aunt,” he answered.  “But that is beside the point.  Are you quite incapable of telling me the truth?”

She winced sharply.  “Trevor!  Why are you so cruel?  I have done nothing wrong.”

“Then look at me!” he said.

But she would not, for his eyes terrified her.  Nor could she bring herself to speak of Valpre under their piercing scrutiny.  Only close-locked in his arms could she have poured out the poor little secret that she had sacrificed so much to keep.  Not the nature of the adventure itself, but the fact that she had given her love to the man who had shared it with her, held her silent.  She could not spread her love before those pitiless eyes, and to disclose the one without the other had become impossible to her.

And so she remained silent, counting the seconds as she felt his forbearance ebb away.

When at last he moved and released her, she cowered almost as if she expected a blow.  Yet when he spoke, though there was in his tone a subtle difference, his words came with absolute composure.  She could almost have imagined that he was smiling.

“Since you refuse to be open with me,” he said, “you compel me to draw my own conclusions.  Now, with regard to this letter which you received a week ago from Captain Rodolphe—­you have another letter from him somewhere in your possession?”

He took the missive from his pocket and opened it as if he would read it again.  But the sight was too much for Chris. It tortured her beyond endurance, galvanizing her into sudden, unconsidered action.  She snatched it from him and tore it passionately into fragments.

“You shall not!” she cried.  “You shall not!”

With the words she sprang to her feet, and stood before him, goaded to frenzy, challenging his calm.

“Where did you find it?” she demanded.

“It was found on the terrace,” he said.

She flung out a trembling hand.  “Ah!  Then I dropped it that night that my dress caught fire.  I thought it was burnt.  And you found it—­you dared to read it!”

He did not attempt to explain his action.  Perhaps he realized he was more likely to obtain the truth from her thus than by endless cross-questioning.  “Yes, I have read it,” he said.