“I did not know it till five minutes ago.”
She stood still too, and looked at him. There was a flaming of distrust in his eyes, his lips were compressed, and his whole body betokened hostility.
“I did not understand. I thought Senor Anteoni would be alone here.”
“Father Roubier is a pleasant companion, sincere and simple. Everyone likes him.”
“No doubt, Madame. But—the fact is I”—he hesitated, then added, almost with violence—“I do not care for priests.”
“I am sorry. Still, for once—for an hour—you can surely——”
She did not finish the sentence. While she was speaking she felt the banality of such phrases spoken to such a man, and suddenly changed tone and manner.
“Monsieur Androvsky,” she said, laying one hand on his arm, “I knew you would not like Father Roubier’s being here. If I had known he was coming I should have told you in order that you might have kept away if you wished to. But now that you are here—now that Smain has let you in and the Count and Father Roubier must know of it, I am sure you will stay and govern your dislike. You intend to turn back. I see that. Well, I ask you to stay.”
She was not thinking of herself, but of him. Instinct told her to teach him the way to conceal his aversion. Retreat would proclaim it.
“For yourself I ask you,” she added. “If you go, you tell them what you have told me. You don’t wish to do that.”