I am sure he knew--when he said good-
bye."
Her voice was nearer to him. And again it had changed, utterly
changed. And in the different sounds of her voice Artois seemed to see
the different women who dwelt within her, to understand and to know
them as he had never understood and known them before. This woman was
pleading, as women will plead for a man they have once loved, so long
as they have voices, so long as they have hearts.
"Then that last time he didn't--no, he didn't go to--her."
The voice was almost a whisper, and Artois knew that she was speaking
for herself--that she was telling herself that her husband's last
action had been--not to creep to the woman, but to stand up and face
the man.
"Was it her father?"
The voice was still almost a whisper.
"I think it was."
"Maurice paid then--he paid!"
"Yes. I am sure he paid."
"Gaspare knew. Gaspare knew--that night. He was afraid. He knew--but
he didn't tell me. He has never told me."
"He loved his master.
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