The bishop picked his teeth.
Time passed.
Tai Lin sat up; never taking his eyes away from the ring, he spoke, but as much to himself as to the bishop, feebly, piteously calm:
“I do not know why she did this.”
There are some silences that men hesitate to break; the silence of a tempest, the silence of an abyss, the silence of a broken heart.
The bishop made no attempt to answer or break the oppressive stillness that followed Tai Lin’s simple statement.
It was a long time before he spoke again, then his voice was quiet, but in his tardy speech lay decision not less terrible than it was calm.
“Yes; it is all over. I am glad you told me. She shall suffer. When you said they were animals you told the truth. I always believed that, but thought her different. I was not mistaken. She has been more a snake than beast. Your words have been learned, only there is no such poison in a snake’s mouth as in a woman’s heart.
“No; I do not ask you why you did not stop this crime when you saw its beginning, because I know you have made roguery holy to escape its responsibility and to enjoy its profits. You have your own protection, but she shall die.”
The bishop, who had been picking his teeth, leaned forward.