'And we know why she bit my hand. We know that, do we not?'
'Yes,' said Jill, in the lowest voice.
'I shall say nothing. I shall do nothing,' said Mademoiselle Ludérac. 'I do not think it is she who has surprised me.'
'Oh—but, Marthe!' Jill broke down the barrier that rose between them. It was there; a wall of ice; but she broke it down and seized Marthe's hand. 'Don't misjudge Dick! She is so clever—so horribly clever! She knew how to do it! She knew how to drop in the poison! He has been so miserable.'
Marthe stood still, as if stricken to the heart. 'I do not misjudge him.'
'I mean—See him—Let him explain'—Jill heard herself, unbelievably uttering, while she saw, at last, clearly, that this was what she wanted; for Dick; for Marthe. They must see each other. They must understand.
Marthe did not speak or attempt to draw away her hand. She left it lying in Jill's, inertly, and they Stood there, not looking at each other.
From below, like the sound of a sunken bell in a drowned city, they heard the notes of the Manoir clock, faint and mournful, striking eleven.
'I must go,' Marthe muttered. 'She will be waiting for me. Good-bye.'
