As she realised my meaning a look of great pain and repulsion passed over her face.
"But he must come. Perhaps he will be better presently. You will accompany us and help me, Mr. Asticot, won't you?"
As usual the frost melted from her eyes and her voice—the silvery English voice—went to my heart. I bent over Paragot and whispered.
"Take her from this pigstye and the sight of the hog," muttered Paragot. His hands were clenched in a mighty effort to concentrate his wits. Joanna approached and touched him on the shoulder.
"Gaston."
Suddenly he relaxed his grip and broke into a stupid laugh.
"Very well. What does it matter? Sorry haven't got—velveteen suit."
"What does he say?" she asked turning to me.
"That he will come, Madame," said I.
Hercule aided me to frog-march him out of the café and across the pavement to the waiting carriage. Joanna took her seat by his side and I sat opposite. Hercule shut the carriage door and we drove off. Paragot relapsed into stupor.