"You—it was good of you to come," he said after a pause. "Then, you are not angry?"
"No."
"Brigit—je t'aime, je t'aime. I am infamous, I am a monster, a father to be execrated by all honest men and women, but—I love you!"
He laid the violin down in a chair and came to her. "Et toi?" he asked hoarsely.
The moment had come when she must think, she told herself, but her brain refused to work. The only thing that mattered was that he should stay. What must she say, truth or lie, that would inspire that necessity?
She stared at him blankly, and then, before she could speak, he knelt at her feet and pressed a fold of her dress to his face.
"Victor," she said slowly, trembling so she could hardly stand, "you will not—leave me?"
And Joyselle caught her up off the floor and held her as if she had been a baby.
"Dieu merci," he cried. "Dieu merci."