“I let that pass.  I know how you feel.  I know just how hard it is for you.  I’ve been in something like your situation myself.  No man can have much to do with a woman without being put there in one way if not another.  It’s because I do understand you that I share your pain—­and support your insults.”

The tremor in his voice, coupled with the dignity of his bearing, carried a certain degree of conviction, so that when Derek spoke again it was less fiercely.

“Then I understand you to confirm what you told me on board ship?”

“On the contrary; you understand me to take it back.  Why shouldn’t that be enough for you—­without asking further questions?”

“Because I’m not here to go through formalities, but to seek for facts.”

“Precisely; and yet, wouldn’t it be wise, under the circumstances, not to be too exacting?  If I do my best for you—­”

“It isn’t a question of doing your best, but of telling me the truth.”

“I can quite see that it might strike you in that way; but you’ll pardon me, I know, if I see it from another point of view.  No man in my situation would consider it a matter of telling you the truth, so much as of coming to the aid of a lady whose good name he had unwittingly imperilled.  My supreme duty is there; and I’m willing to do it to the utmost of my power.  I am willing to withdraw everything I have ever uttered that could tell against her.  Can you ask me to do more?”

“Yes; I can ask you to deny it.”

“Isn’t that already a form of denial?”

“No; it’s a form of affirmation.”

“That’s because you choose to take it so.  It’s because you prefer to go behind my words, and ascribe to me motives which, for all you know, I do not possess.”

“I’ve nothing to do with your motives; my aim is to get at the truth.”

“Since you have nothing to do with my motives,” Bienville said, with a slight lifting of the brows, “you’ll permit me, I am sure, to be equally indifferent to your aims.  I tell you what I am prepared to do; but what is it to me whether you are satisfied or not?  I am sorry to—­to—­inconvenience the lady; but as for you—!”

With a snap of the fingers he turned and strolled to the window, where he stood, looking out, with his back toward his guest.  It was significant of their tension of feeling and concentration of mind that both gesture and attitude went unnoted by both.  Derek remained silent and motionless, his slower mind trying to catch up with the Frenchman’s nimble adroitness.  He had not yet done so when Bienville turned and spoke again.