The sight of Ranulph’s face revealed to Detricand the true meaning of this farce and how easily it might become a tragedy. He read the story of the son’s torture, of his sacrifice; and his decision was instantly made: he would befriend him. Looking straight into his eyes, his own said he had resolved to know nothing whatever about this criminal on the cider-cask. The two men telegraphed to each other a perfect understanding, and then Detricand turned on his heel, and walked away into the crowd.
The sudden change in the old man’s appearance had not been lost on the spectators, but they set it down to weakness or a sudden sickness. One ran for a glass of brandy, another for cider, and an old woman handed up to him a mogue of cinnamon drops.
The old man tremblingly drank the brandy. When he looked again Detricand had disappeared. A dark, sinister expression crossed his face, an evil thought pulled down the corners of his mouth as he stepped from the cask. His son went to him and taking his arm, said: “Come, you’ve done enough for to-day.”
The old man made no reply, but submissively walked away into the Coin & Anes. Once however he turned and looked the way Detricand had gone, muttering.
The peasants cheered him as he passed. Presently, free of the crowd and entering the Rue d’Egypte, he said to Ranulph:
“I’m going alone; I don’t need you.”
“Where are you going?” asked Ranulph.
“Home,” answered the old man gloomily.
Ranulph stopped. “All right; better not come out again to-day.”
“You’re not going to let that Frenchman hurt me?” suddenly asked Delagarde with morose anxiety. “You’re going to stop that? They’d put me in prison.”