Lavenne leaned back in his chair.
“Mademoiselle, I am going to ask you a question. Are you a friend of Monsieur de Rochefort?”
“Indeed, I am, monsieur.”
“Well, then, if you are a friend of his, I may tell you that I also am his friend, though I am, at the present moment, making an examination of his effects. So in his interests please be frank with me.”
Javotte looked at the quiet and self-contained man before her. Youth and Innocence, those two great geniuses, proclaimed him trustworthy, and she cast away her reserve.
“Well, monsieur, what do you want me to say?”
“Just this, I want you to tell me what you know of this gentleman. What you say may not be worth a denier to me, or it may be useful. You need say, moreover, nothing to his disadvantage, if you choose. Well?”
“I know nothing to his disadvantage, monsieur. He is the bravest man in the world, the most kind, and he saved me but the other night from two men who would have done me an injury——” Then catching fire, she told volubly the whole story of the occurrence on the night of the Duc de Choiseul’s ball.
Lavenne listened attentively.
Sartines had already given him Camus’ story of the killing of Choiseul’s agent. Javotte was now giving him the true story. He instantly saw the facts of the case, and the character of Camus.