Hanaud’s face clouded over.
"You put your finger on a sore place, M. Ricardo. I was sure, but I still wanted evidence to convict. I left him free, hoping for that evidence. I left him free, hoping that he would commit himself. He did, but-well, let us talk of some one else. What of Mlle. Celie?"
Ricardo drew a letter from his pocket.
"I have a sister in London, a widow," he said. "She is kind. I, too, have been thinking of what will become of Mlle. Celie. I wrote to my sister, and here is her reply. Mlle. Celie will be very welcome."
Hanaud stretched out his hand and shook Ricardo’s warmly.
"She will not, I think, be for very long a burden. She is young. She will recover from this shock. She is very pretty, very gentle. If-if no one comes forward whom she loves and who loves her-I-yes, I myself, who was her papa for one night, will be her husband forever."
He laughed inordinately at his own joke; it was a habit of M. Hanaud’s. Then he said gravely:
"But I am glad, M. Ricardo, for Mlle. Celie’s sake that I came to your amusing dinner-party in London."
Mr. Ricardo was silent for a moment. Then he asked:
"And what will happen to the condemned?"