“Why did he do it? I can’t understand that man.”
“Nor does he understand himself, probably; but he’s a good fellow.”
At the very second that the Swiss was saying these words, Quentin entered the café, looked about him indifferently and came up to the table at which María Lucena and Springer were seated.
When she saw him, María suddenly turned red.
“Ah! So you’ve come at last!” she cried angrily. “Where have you been?”
“If you had had your way, my dear, I would have been in prison.”
“That’s where you ought to be always. Thief! May a nasty viper sting you! Tell me, what have you been doing all these days?”
“Why, I’ve been on a farm, hiding from the police.”
“I’m likely to believe that! You’ve been with a woman.”
The procedure of extracting the truth with a lie produced results, for Quentin said candidly: