“No, Monsieur Sholmes, I am not sleepy. I was thinking.”
“Of what? If I may be so bold as to inquire?”
“I was thinking of Madame d’Imblevalle. She must be very unhappy. Her life is ruined.”
“Oh! no, no,” he replied quickly. “Her mistake was not a serious one. Monsieur d’Imblevalle will forgive and forget it. Why, even before we left, his manner toward her had softened.”
“Perhaps ... but he will remember it for a long time ... and she will suffer a great deal.”
“You love her?”
“Very much. It was my love for her that gave me strength to smile when I was trembling from fear, that gave me courage to look in your face when I desired to hide from your sight.”
“And you are sorry to leave her?”
“Yes, very sorry. I have no relatives, no friends—but her.”
“You will have friends,” said the Englishman, who was affected by her sorrow. “I have promised that. I have relatives ... and some influence. I assure you that you will have no cause to regret coming to England.”