She struggled for the self-composure to answer him after his kind.
“I have no right, then, Monsieur, to resent it. The law exacts its privileges, however represented. You come, I am to understand, on business. Business, Monsieur, demands the fewest words to be effective.”
“That is perfectly true, Madame,” he said quietly. “This of mine, though its processes have extended over years, is summed up in a sentence. You are in the habit of sending, periodically, large sums of money to one who is well known by me to be conspiring against the Government.”
She stood as rigid as stone. Every atom of colour had fled from her face. He longed to cry out on its moveless agony, “O, woman! on the merit of my hopeless passion, believe in me, trust in me! I am here to save, not ruin!” But he must strike deeper, before he could seek to heal.
“This fact, Madame,” he said, “has been made known to me through the ordinary secret channels of my office. It is indisputable. I do not ask you to dispute it. I ask you simply, I give you the opportunity of answering privately, a single question. Does M. Saint-Péray, who is my friend, identify himself also with this movement? Is he, in short, in your confidence in this matter of your supplying it with funds?”
She tottered towards him, holding out frenzied hands.
“O, no, Monsieur! O, no, no!”
He knew it all now; he had her at his mercy; for one moment this soft cruel thing should yield herself to his will, its abject slave. He lingered out the rapture, as one condemned to death might hang on the lips of his soul’s love. His dark cheek flushed; he backed before her approach, unresponsive.
“You reassure me, Madame,” he said coldly. “I had been concerned for him, I own. It is enough that friendship has helped to exculpate, where a closer relationship, it seems, had found its better interest in deceiving. For the rest, you are doubtless prepared, for yourself, with a sufficient answer to the law.”
“The law!”