“I’m sure of that.  I’m not pretending when I say that I’m absolutely convinced you’re a man of sensitive honor.  If you weren’t you couldn’t be a Frenchman and a Bienville.  I want you to understand that I’ve never attributed—­the—­things that have happened—­to anything but folly and imprudence—­for which I want to take my full share of the blame.”

“I’ve never ventured to express to you my own regret,” Bienville said, in a tone not free from emotion, “but I assure you it’s very deep.”

“I know.  All our life was so wrong!  It’s because I feel sure you must see that as well as I do that I hoped you’d help me now.”

He said nothing in reply, letting some seconds pass in silence, waiting for her to come to her point.

“On the way up from South America,” she began again, with visible difficulty, “you were on the same ship with my—­my—­employer.  From certain things you said then—­”

“But I’ve withdrawn them,” he interrupted, quickly.  “He should have told you that.  Mademoiselle,” he added, rising, and turning toward Marion Grimston, “wouldn’t it spare you if we continued this conversation alone?”

“No; I’d rather stay,” Miss Grimston said, with an inflection of request.  “Please sit down again.”

“He should have told you that,” Bienville repeated, taking his seat once more, and speaking with some animation.  “I did my best to straighten things out for him.”

“Then he didn’t understand you.  He told me you had taken back what you had said, but only in a way that reaffirmed it.”

“That’s nothing but a tortuous construction put on straightforward words.”

“Quite so; but for that very reason I thought that perhaps you’d go to him again and explain what you meant more clearly.”

He took a minute to consider this before speaking.

“I don’t see how I can,” he said, slowly.  “I’ve already used the plainest words of which I have command.”

“Words aren’t everything.  It’s the way they’re spoken that often counts most.  I’m sure you could convince him if you went the right way to work about it.”

“I doubt that.  I’m afraid I don’t know how to force conviction on any one against his will.”

“You mean—?”

“I mean—­you’ll excuse me; I speak quite bluntly—­I mean that he seemed very willing to believe anything that could tell against you, but less eager to credit what was said in your defence.”

“You think so because you don’t understand him.  As a matter of fact—­”

“Oh, I dare say.  I don’t pretend to understand the gentleman in question.  But for that very reason it would be useless for me to try to enlighten him further.  It would only make matters worse.”

“It wouldn’t if you’d put things before him just as they happened.  I don’t want any excuses made for me.  My best defence would be—­the truth.”

There was a perceptible pause, during which his eyes shifted uneasily toward Marion Grimston.