“And what did you say?” Druse asked.
“There could only be one thing to say. I told him I had never thought of making my home in a sewer.” A grim smile broke over the old man’s face, and he sat down again.
“Because I saw him with you I wanted to warn you,” the woman continued. “Yesterday, I came to warn him of his danger, and he laughed at me. From Madame Thibadeau I heard he had said he would make you sing his song. When I came to tell you, there he was with you. But when he left you I was sure there was no need to speak. Still I felt I must tell you—perhaps because you are rich and strong, and will stop him from doing more harm.”
“How do you know we are rich?” asked Druse in a rough tone.
“It is what the world says,” was the reply. “Is there harm in that? In any case it was right to tell you all; so that one who had herded with a woman like me should not be friends with you.”
“I have seen worse women than you,” murmured the old man.
“What danger did you come to warn M. Marchand about?” asked Fleda.
“To his life,” answered the woman.
“Do you want to save his life?” asked the old man.
“Ah, is it not always so?” intervened Madame Bulteel in a low, sad voice. “To be wronged like that does not make a woman just.”