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"And mon Rafe must be blackened more than the fire had blackened his poor body. And the poor Ruth must break the Holy Secret. And the good M'sieur the Bishop must break his holiest oath. All to make you innocent! "Bah! Innocent!" She flung away from him and ran up the hill. Cynthe had not said quite all that she intended to say to this young gentleman.
"He didn't say nothing, except in confession?" the girl questioned swiftly. "Nothing at all," Ruth answered, relieved. "And you heard?" the girl returned shrewdly. "Why, Cynthe, I heard nothing. You know that." "I know you are lying," Cynthe said slowly. "That is right. But I do not know. Will you always be able to lie? I do not know. You are Catholic, yes. But you are new.
Before she knew it, she was sputtering away in the best French she had and entering into the fun with all her heart. "Which is Rafe Gadbeau?" she suddenly asked Cynthe Cardinal. "I want to know him." "Why for you want to know him?" the girl asked sharply in English. "Oh, nothing," said Ruth carelessly, "only I've heard of him."
"Why why, he died quickly, in the Bishop's arms." "I know. Yes. But how? He confessed?" "He he went to confession, you mean. Yes, I think so." But the girl was not to be evaded in that way. "I know that," she persisted. "I heard M'sieur the Bishop. But did he confess about Rogers?" "Why, Cynthe, you must be crazy. You know I didn't hear anything. I couldn't "
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