He could not say to a woman that which must
shame her before him, she who had kept her head so arrogantly high--not
so much to him, however, as to the rest of the world. He had not the
courage; and yet he had fear lest some awful thing would at any moment
now befall the Manor Cartier. If it did, he would feel himself to blame
had he done nothing to stay the peril. So far he was the only person who
could do so, for he was the only person who knew!
The Judge could feel his friend's arm tremble with emotion, and he said:
"Come, now, my Plato, what is it? A man has come to disturb the peace of
Jean Jacques, our philosophe, eh?"
"That is it, monsieur--a man of a kind."
"Oh, of course, my bambino, of course, a man 'of a kind,' or there would
be no peace disturbed. You want to tell me, I see. Proceed then; there is
no reason why you should not. I am secret. I have seen much. I have no
prejudices. As you will, however; but I can see it would relieve your
mind to tell me. In truth I felt there was something when I saw you look
at her first, when you spoke to her, when she talked with me. She is a
fine figure of a woman, and Jean Jacques, as you say, is much away from
home. In fact he neglects her--is it not so?"
"He means it not, but it is so. His life is full of--"
"Yes, yes, of stores and ash-factories and debtors and lightning-rods and
lime-kilns, and mortgaged farms, and the price of wheat--but certainly, I
understand it all, my Fille.
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