“Yes.”
“Well, and I don’t wonder, after what you said to her last night. It was shameful.”
“That’s my own affair,” the other said. “It don’t concern you, so we need not discuss it.”
“Where has she gone?”
“I don’t know, and, moreover, I don’t care. You, however, seem to take a particular interest in her.”
“I hate to see a woman maltreated,” replied Adolphe frankly.
“I tell you it is no concern of yours,” replied the other, crushing Jean’s letter into his jacket pocket and tossing away his cap, while Adolphe re-bound his cut hand with the handkerchief which was already saturated with blood.
“Sit down and let’s have a drink,” said Ansell, lighting a candle, for the lamp was now very dim, and producing another bottle of red wine from the cupboard.
The pair seated themselves, and drank merrily to their own success, after which Ralph Ansell produced from his pockets the jewellery and the bundle of bank-notes, which he proceeded to examine.
Beneath the light of the single candle stuck in the tin candlestick the fine stones sparkled—diamonds, emeralds, and rubies—as “The American” produced them in a mass from his pocket and laid them upon the table.