"What does it matter to you what he said?" gasped de Vautrin. "You are in love with this monsieur. Eh bien! Go to him. I don't care. I'm through with you."
"Ah, no, you're not, Olivier," said Piquette, smiling calmly, "not until I'm through with you." And then, soberly: "Don't be a fool. Your petit bleu was sent by Monsieur Quinlevin. He has the best of reasons for not wanting you to see us. Will you listen to me now?"
Quinlevin's name had startled him.
"What do you mean?" he sputtered.
CHAPTER XV
GREEN EYES
For a moment after Jim Horton's departure Moira sat in her arm-chair, her head buried in her arms, more than half stupefied. One horrible revelation had followed another with such rapidity that she was aghast at the complete disruption of all the ties that had made her life. And this last tie—the strongest and the weakest of all—that too had been broken as relentlessly as the others.
She straightened slowly, her face haggard with her suffering, but she did not move from her chair and her fingers clutched its arms fiercely. Her eyes, staring blankly past Quinlevin, were following Jim out into the darkness of the Rue de Tavennes, but her fingers still clung to the chair-arms and her body did not move. It seemed that her limbs refused to obey her will to follow. Then after a moment, she sank down again, crushed, bruised and nerveless.
She felt the touch of Quinlevin's hand upon her shoulder and his voice whispering at her ear.
"There, acushla! I'll be explaining it all to you in the morning. Go to your room now, child, and rest."