Before he forced an entrance, Jack tried it, and, to his great surprise and delight, found it unfastened. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. ” He said, his voice tinged with worry. She might even forgive him. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. He saw now that it was merely a boy. All we do is for your good. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. I am a man—of a sort of experience.
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