“No, but you may be mistaken.”
“I am not mistaken.”
She expressed herself in a tone of such absolute certainty, that Maxence, in the disorder of his mind, was at a loss to know what to imagine, what to believe.
“You must have some reason to urge me thus,” he said.
“I have.”
“Why not tell it to me then?”
“Because I should have no proofs to furnish you of my assertions. Because I should have to go into details which you would not understand. Because, above all, I am following one of those inexplicable presentiments which never deceive.”
It was evident that she was not willing to unveil her whole mind; and yet Maxence felt himself terribly staggered.
“Think of my agony,” he said, “if I were to cause my father’s arrest.”
“Would my own be less? Can any misfortune strike you without reaching me? Let us reason a little. What were you saying a moment since? That certainly your father is not as guilty as people think; at any rate, that he is not alone guilty; that he has been but the instrument of rascals more skillful and more powerful than himself; and that he has had but a small share of the twelve millions?”