“Where—where did you come from? You have saved my life,” she faltered in blank amazement.
“I came out of prison nine months ago,” was his reply. “They brought me to Paris, but I could find no work, so I tramped to Havre, hoping to get a job at the docks, or to work my passage to New York. But all to no avail, so I—I had, alas! to return to my old profession. And the first house I enter I find, to my dismay, is yours!”
“You heard us talking?” she asked quickly.
“I heard everything—and I understood everything,” was the quick reply. “That man,” he went on, “robbed me and gave me deliberately into the hands of the police. I swore to be avenged, and I have killed him—as he deserves. He was an assassin, and I am his executioner!”
“But the servants will be alarmed by the shot!” she gasped suddenly. “There is no time to lose. You must want money. I shall send you some to the Poste Restante in Havre—to-morrow. Now go—or you may be discovered.”
“But how will you explain?” he asked hurriedly. “Ah, madame, through those long, dreary years at Devil’s Island I have thought of you, and wondered—and wondered what had become of you. I am so glad to know that you are rich and happy, as you assuredly deserve.”
She sighed, for a flood of memories came over her.
“Yes, Adolphe, I am greatly indebted to you. Twice you have saved me from that man’s violence. Ah, I shall not forget.”
“But, madame, think of yourself! If he comes—if the servants come—how can you explain his body in your room? Let me think!”
Already Jean fancied she heard sounds of someone moving in the house, and of subdued and frightened voices.