"About Sabron, marraine," said her godson laconically.
The Marquise d'Esclignac raised her lorgnon and said:
"Speak, man! What do you know about Monsieur de Sabron? See, he is covered with dirt—has leprosy, probably." But she did not withdraw. She was a great lady and stood her ground. She did not know what the word "squeamish" meant.
Listening to the man's jargon and putting many things together, Tremont at last turned to the Marquise d'Esclignac who was sternly fixing the beggar with her haughty condescension:
"Marraine, he says that Sabron is alive, in the hands of natives in a certain district where there is no travel, in the heart of the seditious tribes. He says that he has friends in a caravan of merchants who once a year pass the spot where this native village is."
"The man's a lunatic," said the Marquise d'Esclignac calmly. "Get Abimelec and put him out of the garden, Robert. You must not let Julia hear of this."
"Marraine," said Tremont quietly, "Mademoiselle Redmond has already seen this man. He has come to see her to-night."
"How perfectly horrible!" said the Marquise d'Esclignac. Then she asked rather weakly of Tremont: "Don't you think so?"
"Well, I think," said Tremont, "that the only interesting thing is the truth there may be in what this man says. If Sabron is a captive, and he knows anything about it, we must use his information for all it is worth."
"Of course," said the Marquise d'Esclignac, "of course. The war department must be informed at once. Why hasn't he gone there?"