“Madame, it is useless,” he answered gruffly. “I do not make the law; I have only to support it. Every good citizen is bound to that.”
“I trust I am a good citizen,” said the Countess, with a wan smile, but very wearily. “Still, I should wish to be let off now. I have suffered greatly, terribly, by this horrible catastrophe. My nerves are quite shattered. It is too cruel. However, I can say no more, except to ask that you will let my maid come to me.”
M. Floçon, still obdurate, would not even consent to that.
“I fear, madame, that for the present at least you cannot be allowed to communicate with any one, not even with your maid.”
“But she is not implicated; she was not in the car. I have not seen her since—”
“Since?” repeated M. Floçon, after a pause.
“Since last night, at Amberieux, about eight o’clock. She helped me to undress, and saw me to bed. I sent her away then, and said I should not need her till we reached Paris. But I want her now, indeed I do.”
“She did not come to you at Laroche?”
“No. Have I not said so? The porter,”—here she pointed to the man, who stood staring at her from the other side of the table,—“he made difficulties about her being in the car, saying that she came too often, stayed too long, that I must pay for her berth, and so on. I did not see why I should do that; so she stayed away.”
“Except from time to time?”