“He has been a good friend to you at some expense, the world says.”
The woman struggled with herself. “The world lies!” she said at last.
“But he doesn’t. The village was against you once. That was when the Notary, with the Seigneur, was for you—it has cost him something ever since, I’m told. You’ve never thanked him.”
“He has tortured me for years, the oily, smirking, lying—”
“He has been your best friend,” he interrupted. “Please sit down, and listen to me for a moment.”
She hesitated, then did as he asked.
“He tells me that years ago he was in love with you. Hasn’t he behaved better than some who said they loved you?”
The woman half started up, her eyes flashing, but met a deprecating motion of his hand and sat down again.
“He thought that if you knew your child lived, you would think better of life—and of yourself. He has his good points, the Notary.”
“Why doesn’t he tell me where my child is?”