"Doubt?"
"Yes, doubt. I knew then that the inexplicable had happened."
"I do not understand."
"The inexplicable. For who will believe that it is possible for a sane man to fall in love with a voice? Had your face been scarred, as I once suspected; had you committed some crime, as I once believed, it would not matter. I am mad." He laughed angrily. "Yes, I love you, knowing not what you are nor caring. I have been mad for weeks, only I did not see my madness in true colors till this moment."
The light seemed to bother her eyes, for she turned her head aside, giving this mad lover the exquisite profile of her face.
"You are indeed mad, or, rather, your jest is."
"Would to Heaven I were jesting! And why did you avoid me in Monte Carlo?"
She realized that there was some justice in his questions and that she was not altogether innocent of the cause of his madness, if it were that.
"I did not speak to you because I wished to avoid this very moment. But since it was destined to be, let us have done. What other questions would you ask, Mr. Hillard?"
"Who is that man—the Italian with the scar—who ran after you that night?"