“That is better.  It will help us both if we are frank—­only do not treat me as a child.  You heard what my brother said.  Yes, and doubtless you have heard other things to my shame?  Answer me.”

“If your brother chose to utter slanders—­”

“Yes, yes; it was easy to catch him by the throat.  That is how one man treats another who calls a woman vile in her presence.  It does not mean that he disbelieves, and therefore it is worthless; but a gallant man will act so, almost without a second thought, and because it is dans les formes.”  She paused.  “I learned that phrase in Brussels, cavalier.”

I made no answer.

“In Brussels, cavalier,” she repeated, “where it was often in the mouths of very vile persons.  You have heard, perhaps, that we—­that my brother and I—­lived our childhood in Brussels?”

I bent my head, without answering; but still she persisted.

“I was brought to Corsica from Brussels, cavalier.  Marc’antonio and Stephanu fetched us thence, being guided by that priest who is now my brother’s confessor.”

“I have been told so, Princess.  Marc’antonio told me.”

“Did he also tell you where he found me?”

“No, Princess.”

“Did he tell you that, being fetched hither, I was offered by my brother in marriage to a young Count Odo of the Rocca Serra, and that the poor boy slew himself with his own gun?”

I stuffed my hands deep in my pockets, and said I, standing over her—­

“All this has been told me, Princess, though not the precise reason for it:  and since you desire me to be frank I will tell you that I have given some thought to that dead lad—­that rival of mine (if you will permit the word) whom I never knew.  The mystery of his death is a mystery to me still; but in all my blind guesses this somehow remained clear to me, that he had loved you, Princess; and this (again I ask your leave to say it), because I could understand it so well, forbade me to think unkindly of him.”

“He loved his honour better, sir.”  Her face had flushed darkly.

“I am sorry, then, if I must suffer by comparison.”

“No, no,” she protested.  “Oh, why will you twist my words and force me to seem ungrateful?  He died rather than have me to wife:  you took me on the terms that within a few minutes you must die.  For both of you the remedy was at hand, only you chose to save me before taking it.  On my knees, sir, I could thank you for that.  The crueller were they that, when you stood up claiming your right to die, they broke the bargain and cheated you.”

“Princess,” I said, after musing a moment, “if my surviving seemed to you so pitiable, there was another way.”  I pointed to her musket.

“Yes, cavalier, and I will confess to you that when, having fired wide, they turned to go and the cheat was evident, twice before you pulled the bandage away I had lifted my gun.  But I could not fire it, cavalier.  To make me your executioner!  Me, your wife—­and while you thought so vilely of me!”