She glanced at me with pathetic disdain.

"Indeed, indeed, monsieur, you deny things very bravely."

"Did I tell you that my name was Lesperon? Did I present myself
to monsieur your father as Lesperon?"

"Surely - yes."

"Surely no; a thousand times no. I was the victim of circumstances
in that, and if I turned them to my own account after they had been
forced upon me, shall I be blamed and accounted a cheat? Whilst I
was unconscious, your father, seeking for a clue to my identity,
made an inspection of my clothes.

"In the pocket of my doublet they found some papers addressed to
Rene de Lesperon - some love letters, a communication from the Duc
d'Orleans, and a woman's portrait. From all of this it was assumed
that I was that Lesperon. Upon my return to consciousness your
father greeted me effusively, whereat I wondered; he passed on to
discuss - nay, to tell me of - the state of the province and of his
own connection with the rebels, until I lay gasping at his egregious
temerity. Then, when he greeted me as Monsieur de Lesperon, I had
the explanation of it, but too late. Could I deny the identity then?
Could I tell him that I was Bardelys, the favourite of the King
himself? What would have occurred? I ask you, mademoiselle. Would
I not have been accounted a spy, and would they not have made short
work of me here at your chateau?"

"No, no; they would have done no murder."