“Truly, truly. But what will you do for me and my child? Haven’t we been ill-treated? Don’t you owe us help, too? Justice? Don’t we deserve tenderness and protection?”
“Yes,” said Peter. “But you wish revenge. Ask for justice, ask for help, and I will do what is within my power to aid you.”
“Watts,” cried Mrs. D’Alloi, coming forward, “of what child are you talking? Whose child? Who is this woman?”
Watts jumped as if he had been shot. Celestine even retreated before the terrible voice and face with which Mrs. D’Alloi asked her questions. A sad, weary look came into Peter’s eyes. No one answered Mrs. D’Alloi.
“Answer me,” she cried
“My dear little woman. Don’t get excited. It’s all right.” Watts managed to say this much. But he did not look his last remark.
“Answer me, I say. Who is this woman? Speak!”
“It’s all right, really, it’s all right. Here. Peter will tell you it’s all right.”
“Peter,” cried Mrs. D’Alloi. “Of whose child were you speaking?”
Peter was still standing by the desk. He looked sad and broken, as he said: