“I’ve told him everything,” said Marcelle.
Baltazar started to his feet.
“Then when he saw us gaping at each other just now, he must have guessed, or he can’t have any Baltazar brains in his head.” He moved away a pace; then turned on her. “You gave me a good character?”
Her head was bowed. She did not see the rare laughter in his eyes, but took his question seriously.
“Can you doubt it?” She beckoned him nearer, and said in a low voice: “I may have been wrong, but I have given him to understand that it was entirely on my account—you know what I mean——”
“What other reason, in the name of God could I have had?” he exclaimed with a large gesture.
If there had lingered a doubt in her mind, the note of sincerity in the man’s cry would have driven it away for ever. It awoke a harmonic chord of gladness in her heart and her whole being vibrated. Although John Baltazar’s subsequent career was as yet dark and mysterious, her faith, at least, was justified. She said without looking at him:
“You’ll find that I’ve been loyal.”
He strode towards her and, disregarding the perils of publicity, again took her by the shoulders.
“What kind of a cynical beast do you think I’ve turned into?”