Patrice rebelled:
“But you’re mad! I consent, I? . . . Why, the man saved my life! . . . He saved Coralie!”
“But he’s doing for her now. Think a moment: if he were not there, if he were not interfering, Coralie would be free. Do you accept?”
“No.”
“Why not? Do you know what that man is? A highway robber . . . a wretch who has only one thought, to get hold of the millions. And you have scruples! Come, it’s absurd, isn’t it? . . . Do you accept?”
“No and again no!”
“Then so much the worse for Coralie. . . . Oh, yes, I see you don’t realize the position exactly! It’s time you did, Patrice. Perhaps it’s even too late.”
“Oh, don’t say that!”
“Yes, yes, you must learn the facts and take your share of the responsibility. When that damned negro was chasing me, I got rid of Coralie as best I could, intending to release her in an hour or two. And then . . . and then you know what happened. . . . It was eleven o’clock at night . . . nearly eight hours ago. . . . So work it out for yourself . . .”
Patrice wrung his hands. Never had he imagined that a man could be tortured to such a degree. And Siméon continued, unrelentingly.