When Nathalie, by a strong effort of will, succeeded in calling back her thoughts from following her husband, her eyes fell upon M. Rodoin, who sat respectfully opposite to her in his own carriage. The change in the lawyer’s manner was indeed remarkable. When Léon had consulted him before, in spite of his outward politeness her keen intuition had detected a certain veiled distrust which had annoyed her, while it was too impalpable to be openly noticed. She had been convinced that he disbelieved his client’s story; and twenty times had wished that her husband’s case had been in other hands. She had looked at him with disfavour, taking exception to the coldness of his expression and the eccentricity of his nose, which, starting on a straight line, suddenly towards the end developed an upward turned knob, on which the eye fastened itself to the exclusion of his other features, and which seemed to accentuate the air of incredulity which displeased her. The knob, it need hardly be said, remained, but it had acquired so different an expression that although she read anxiety in the look with which he regarded her, its general tenor was that of unmistakable pity and good-will.
When he saw that she was giving him her attention, he leaned forward and said, abruptly:
“Yes, my dear lady, I congratulate you. Your husband is acting with extreme courage, but you should not be alone.”
“Servants talk,” she said, quietly.
“There are his sisters?”
“Ah, but they were strongly opposed to his coming. So was my father, and you yourself, Monsieur Rodoin, permit me to say, did not suggest it.”
He put up his hand. “Your reproach is quite justified. Honestly, I did not believe that Monsieur de Beaudrillart would ever run so counter to the traditions of his family as to take so sensible a course. No, madame, do not suppose I am speaking offensively. No Beaudrillart would be deficient in courage; but this required another form of courage—one which they would be slow to recognise as such; it surprised me beyond words when your telegram was put into my hands. If it was your doing, madame—”
He bowed respectfully, his knowledge of men recognising in the new lines in Nathalie’s beautiful face what the struggle had cost her; but she scarcely heard his words. She put her head out of the window as they rattled over the stones, trying to catch a last glimpse of the carriage which contained her husband. It was but of sight, and her next question was almost a sob:
“Where do they take him, monsieur?”
“To the Palais de Justice.” And as she shuddered, he added: “You will have ample opportunities of seeing him. Do not fear.”