"Mademoiselle, we will leave these lights burning," he said gently to Ann, "and Moreau will keep watch in the house. You have nothing to fear. He will not be far from your door. Good night."
Ann gave him her hand with a wan smile.
"I shall thank you to-morrow," she said, and she mounted the stairs slowly, her feet dragging, her body swaying with her fatigue.
Hanaud watched her go. Then he turned to Frobisher with a whimsical smile.
"What a pity!" he said. "You—she! No? After all, perhaps——" and he broke off hurriedly. Frobisher was growing red and beginning to look "proper"; and the last thing which Hanaud wished to do was to offend him in this particular.
"I make my apologies," he said. "I am impertinent and a gossip. If I err, it is because I wish you very well. You understand that? Good! Then a further proof. To-morrow Mademoiselle will tell us what happened to her to-night, how she came to go to the house of Madame Le Vay—everything. I wish you to be present. You shall know everything. I shall tell you myself step by step, how my conclusions were reached. All your questions shall be answered. I shall give you every help, every opportunity. I shall see to it that you are not even called as a witness of what you have seen to-night. And when all is over, Monsieur, you will see with me that whatever there may be of pain and distress, the Law must take its course."
It was a new Hanaud whom Frobisher was contemplating now. The tricks, the Gasconnades, the buffooneries had gone. He did not even triumph. A dignity shone out of the man like a strong light, and with it he was gentle and considerate.
"Good night, Monsieur!" he said, and bowed; and Jim on an impulse thrust out his hand.
"Good night!" he returned.
Hanaud took it with a smile of recognition and went away.