Again I tried to interrupt, but the pressure of her hand begged me to be silent.  “What would you have me say to my husband?” she asked Cadillac, and she stood close to me with her head high.

He drove his fists together.  “I would have you bring him to reason,” he groaned.  “For three days he has lived in a trance.  He planned the attack, and led it without a quiver, but since then he has tried to wash his hands of us and of the whole affair.  It is a crucial time, and he is acting like a madman.  His anxiety about you has unbalanced him.  Bring him to reason, madame.”

I saw her steal a glance at me as a girl might at her lover, and there was a strange, fierce pride in her look.  She bowed to Cadillac.  “I am glad you told me this, monsieur.”  Then she turned to me.  “Shall we go?”

But I looked over her head at the commandant.  “It will be useless to keep the tribes in waiting,” I warned.

I went to Onanguisse, the woman on my arm.  “My heart is at your feet,” I said to him.  “My blood belongs to you, and my sword!’”

He looked at the woman and at me, and he spoke thoughtfully.  “When I found her in my lodge we had no speech in common, but I understood.  I brought her to you.  Now keep what you have.  The best fisherman may let a fish slip once from his net by accident, but his wits are fat if he lets it go a second time.”

I knew he was troubled.  He saw no possession in my face, and he thought me weak.

And then I took the woman to Cadillac’s tent.

CHAPTER XXXII

I TELL THE WOMAN

Cadillac’s tent held a couch of brush covered with skins, and I led the woman to it and bade her sit.  Then I moved away and stood by the rough table.

“Madame,” I said, “I have something that I must tell you.  I”——­

She rose from the couch and came toward me.  “Will you wait?” she interrupted.  “May I speak first?” She stood beside me, and I saw how thin her hand was as it rested on the table.  She had been through danger, starvation.  I found myself shaking.

“You went alone through the woods!” I cried, and my voice was hoarse, so that I had to stop and control it.  “Did you suffer?  You must have suffered, madame?”

She smiled up at me.  “Monsieur, do not grieve.  It is all over.  And the greatest suffering was in my mind.  I feared that you would think I disobeyed you.”

I clenched my hands.  “Madame, you must not say such things to me.”

But she touched her fingers to mine.  “Monsieur, I beg you.  Hear me out before you speak.  As to my coming here, I promised you that I would not turn westward,—­but I could not help it.”

“I know, madame.”

“My cousin—­he was—­he was a spy, after all.  He deceived us both.  He was carrying peace belts.  But—­but I am sure that he had moments of saying to himself that he would refuse to act the spy.  When he lied to me, and told me that he had no purpose but my safety, I think that he thought he spoke the truth.”