"No," said François; "not I."
"I did! I did! It was like her, all but the eyes. I grew to love it. Then there was an accident, a fall, and the little maid is crippled for life. It seemed horrible, but now I thank God, because she is safe from the baseness of men. I wanted to die, but I must live; she has no other friend."
François sat still, pitiful, and deep in thought. At last he said: "Why were you so terribly afraid of that woman? She could do no worse than ruin our business."
"I—hast thou ever been afraid thou wouldst murder some one? I was. I would have done it in a minute hadst not thou come in."
"Sac à papier! Afraid of thyself! How queer! Thou wert afraid of thyself?"
"Yes; I am—I was—I am often afraid of myself."
"Let us forget it."
"I cannot. What can I do?"
"Do? Nothing."
"But that man—"