"Listen," he said roughly, "the good God knows best. I knew when I
saw you first, that day in June, in this kitchen, that you were
beginning your troubles; for I knew the reputation of Monsieur, your
husband. He was not what you thought him. A man is never what a
woman thinks him. But he was worse than most. And this trouble
that has come to you is chosen by the good God--and he has chosen
the least in his sack for you. You will know it some day--as I know
it now."
"You know a great deal," said Desiree, who was quick in speech, and
he swung round on his heel to meet her spirit.
"You are right," he said, pointing his accusatory finger. "I know a
great deal about you--and I am a very old man."
"How did you learn this news from Vilna?" she asked, and his hand
went up to his mouth as if to hide his thoughts and control his
lips.
"From one who comes straight from there--who buried your husband
there."
Desiree rose and stood with her hands resting on the table, looking
at the persistent back again turned towards her.
"Who?" she asked, in little more than a whisper.
"The Captain--Louis d'Arragon."
"And you have spoken to him to-day--here, in Dantzig?"
Barlasch nodded his head.
"Was he well?" asked Desiree, with a spontaneous anxiety that made
Barlasch turn slowly and look at her from beneath his great brows.
"Oh, he was well enough," he answered, "he is made of steel, that
gentleman.
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