“Why not?”
“There are other things. It is difficult to say. The m’sieur is good to me. It makes nothing to me if the m’sieur knows. But it is a small affair—to all but me—and it would be ennuyant to the m’sieur to hear about it.”
“It would not be ennuyant at all, Zoëtique,” I said. “But I know already. Godin told me.”
“Ah!” He was wondering as to how much I knew.
“I know about your trouble with Alixe, and that it got worse and not better as time went on, until you were not happy with each other any more. I was sorry to hear that, for it is not a little thing to have a woman love one as Alixe loves you.”
Zoëtique, with his eyes glued on his great hands, which lay before him on the table, shook his head. “M’sieur is mistaken. Alixe does not love me.”
“Yes. She does. More than ever.”
The boy’s head lifted, and he flashed an inquiring glance. Then a look of sick disgust came over his face and he shook his head again sullenly.
“M’sieur is mistaken,” he repeated. “She does not care—Alixe.”
But I persisted. “I know, Zoëtique. I have heard news since you have heard. Alixe cares for you still—she has always cared. She is sorry for the wrong things she has done—she would not do them again. She loves you.”