Macheson looked up. He did not understand.
“And who,” he asked, “is Jean le Roi?”
She looked him in the eyes.
“My husband,” she told him quietly. “At least that is what I suppose the law would say that he was.”
Macheson had been prepared for something surprising, but not for this. He looked at her incredulously. He found himself aimlessly repeating her words.
“Your husband?”
“I was married five years ago in Paris,” she said in a dull, emotionless tone. “No one over here knows about it, or has seen him, because he has been in prison all the time. It was I who sent him there.”
“I can’t believe this,” he said, in a low tone. “It is too amazing.”
Then a light broke in upon him and he began to understand.