“Yes. One can be sure of being foolish.”
Either she did not hear or did not heed him.
“You do not of your own knowledge know that it was not as M. de La Tour d’Azyr asserts—that he went to the Feydau that night?”
“I don’t,” he admitted. “It is of course possible. But does it matter?”
“It might matter. Tell me; what became of La Binet after all?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” She turned to consider him. “And you can say it with that indifference! I thought... I thought you loved her, Andre.”
“So did I, for a little while. I was mistaken. It required a La Tour d’Azyr to disclose the truth to me. They have their uses, these gentlemen. They help stupid fellows like myself to perceive important truths. I was fortunate that revelation in my case preceded marriage. I can now look back upon the episode with equanimity and thankfulness for my near escape from the consequences of what was no more than an aberration of the senses. It is a thing commonly confused with love. The experience, as you see, was very instructive.”
She looked at him in frank surprise.
“Do you know, Andre, I sometimes think that you have no heart.”