bedroom?"

"Why not?" She was abrupt to discourtesy.

"You are neither physician, nor relative."

"I have important business."

"I transact his business for him, Madame."

"You are a tailor."

"I learned that; I am learning to be a notary."

"My business is private."

"I transact his private business too--that which his wife cannot do.
Would you prefer his wife to me? It must be either the one or the
other."

The woman started towards the door in a rage. He stepped between. "You
cannot see the Notary."

"I'll see his wife, then--"

"That would only put the fat in the fire. His wife would not listen
to you. She is quick-tempered, and she fancies she has reasons for not
liking you."

"She's a fool. I haven't been always particular, but as for Narcisse
Dauphin--"

"He has been a good friend to you at some expense, the world says."

The woman struggled with herself. "The world lies!" she said at last.

"But he doesn't. The village was against you once. That was when the
Notary, with the Seigneur, was for you--it has cost him something ever
since, I'm told. You've never thanked him."

"He has tortured me for years, the oily, smirking, lying--"

"He has been your best friend," he interrupted. "Please sit down, and
listen to me for a moment."

She hesitated, then did as he asked.

"He tells me that years ago he was in love with you. Hasn't he behaved
better than some who said they loved you?"

The woman half started up, her eyes flashing, but met a deprecating
motion of his hand and sat down again.

"He thought that if you knew your child lived, you would think better of
life--and of yourself. He has his good points, the Notary."

"Why doesn't he tell me where my child is?"

"The Notary is in bed--you shot him! Don't you think it is doing you a
good turn not to have you arrested?"

"It was an accident."

"Oh no, it wasn't! You couldn't make a jury believe that. And if you
were in prison, how could you find your child? You see, you have treated
the Notary very badly."

She was silent, and he added, slowly: "He had good reasons for not
telling you. It wasn't his own secret, and he hadn't come by it in a
strictly professional way. Your child was being well cared for, and he
told you simply that it was alive--for your own sake. But he has changed
his mind at last, and--"

The woman sprang from her seat. "He will tell me--he will tell me?"

"I will tell you."

"Monsieur-Monsieur--ah, my God,