What he had said to her on explaining that this arrest could not take place was sincere; he believed it, and he more than believed it, he wished it. When he decided to kill Caffie he had not thought that the law would ever discover a criminal; it would be a crime that would remain unpunished, as so many were, and no one would be disturbed. But now the law had found and arrested one who was the brother of the woman he loved.
“How was he arrested?” he asked, as much for the sake of knowing as to recover himself.
She told what she knew, and read Florentin’s letter.
“He is a good boy, your brother,” he said, as if talking to himself.
“You will save him?”
“How can I?”
This cry escaped him without her understanding its weight; without her divining the expression of anxious curiosity in his glance.
“To whom shall I address myself, if not to you? Are you not everything to me? My support, my guide, my counsel, my God!”
She explained what she wished him to do. Once more an exclamation escaped Saniel.
“You wish me to go to the judge—me?”