“Well?” he said, finally, after waiting some moments for her to speak.
“How piquantly wicked he is!” she exclaimed, softly.
“Piquantly, indeed!” repeated the land baron, dryly.
“And he carries it without a twinge! What a petrified conscience!”
“I believe you find him more interesting than ever?” said Mauville, impatiently.
“Possibly!” Languidly. “An exceptional moral ailment sometimes makes a man more attractive––like a––an interesting subject in a hospital, you know! But I have always felt,” she continued, with sudden seriousness, “there was something wrong with him. When I first saw him, I was sure he had had no ordinary past, but I did not dream it was quite so––what shall we call it––”
“Unsavory?” suggested her companion.
“That accounts for his unwillingness to talk about Africa,” went on Susan. “Soldiers, as a rule, you know, like to tell all about their sanguinary exploits. But the tented field was a forbidden topic with him. And once when I asked him about Algiers he was almost rudely evasive.”
“He probably lives in constant fear his secret will become known,” said Mauville, thoughtfully. “As a matter of fact, the law provides that no person is to be indicted for treason unless within three years after the offense. The tribunal did not return an indictment; the three years have just expired. Did he come to America to make sure of these three years?”