“If that is so,” said I, “why does Monsieur Bazard return across the fields to warn you of my coming? And why do you harbor John Buckhurst at La Trappe? Do you not know he is wanted by the police?”
“But we do not know why,” said Dr. Delmont, bending forward and pouring himself a glass of red wine. This he drank slowly, eating a bit of black bread with it.
“Monsieur Scarlett,” said Mademoiselle Elven, suddenly, “why does the government want John Buckhurst?”
“That, mademoiselle, is the affair of the government and of John Buckhurst,” I said.
“Pardon,” interrupted Delmont, heavily, “it is the affair of every honest man and woman—where a Bonaparte is concerned.”
“I do not understand you, doctor,” I said.
“Then I will put it brutally,” he replied. “We free people fear a family a prince of which is a common murderer.”
I did not answer; the world has long since judged the slayer of Victor Noir.
After a troubled silence the Countess asked me if I would not share their repast, and I thanked her and took some bread and grapes and a glass of red wine.
The sun had stolen into the corner where we had been sitting, and the Countess suggested that we move down to the lawn under the trees; so Dr. Delmont and Professor Tavernier lifted the table and bore it down the terrace steps, while I carried the chairs to the lawn.