He turned to the bed with a strange expression on his face.
“Why not so loud?” he demanded. “She can hear, even if we speak in a whisper. She has heard everything, and she can do nothing.”
He spoke bitterly, and held a pointing finger at the old woman. And her eyes remained ever fixed, blinking irregularly, regardless of the two beings near her.
“You are cruel,” said Pauline. “You torture her.”
“Far from being cruel,” said Mr. Jetsam, “I am kind. Justice is always kind, for it alone produces peace, and peace alone produces happiness.”
“You would not talk like that if you had ever been happy,” said Pauline.
“If I have not been happy, it is because justice has been denied me. If this old woman and her son have never been happy it is because they have denied me justice. But justice may now be done, and you yourself may be the first instrument of it.”
“Tell me how,” said Pauline.
“You will be the blind instrument,” he said.
“Tell me how,” Pauline repeated.