But he could find no pity for her in his heart. She had wronged him past redemption.
“How much truth was there in the newspaper story?” he asked coldly.
She told him rapidly what Amédée Bazouge had said concerning his attack in the hospital and his subsequent stroke.
“So the man is wilfully killing himself with absinthe?” he said.
“It appears so,” replied Yvonne with a shudder.
“Could you tell me what passed between you otherwise—in general terms?” he asked, after a short silence. “You explained your position? Or did you leave him in ignorance, as you were going to leave me?”
“I told him—of course. It was necessary. And he laughed—I thought to spare you, Everard.”
“Spare me, Yvonne?”
“Yes,” she said, simply, “I could have borne all the pain and fright of it alone—why should I have made you unhappy? And he said he would never interfere with me, and I can trust his word. Why should I have told you, Everard?”
“Do you actually ask me such a question, honestly?”