“Oh, just a woman—like myself.”
“What has she to do with him?”
“How should I know? Perhaps they come from the same parts.”
They looked searchingly into each other’s eyes.
“I should like to see that woman,” he said.
“Why?” she asked. “Have you anything to tell her?”
“I want to tell her …”
“To tell her—what?”
“That I have seen Celestin Duclos.”
“You have seen Celestin Duclos! Is he alive and well?”
“He is quite well. But what is that to you?”
She was silent, again collecting her thoughts. Then she said softly:
“What port is the Notre-Dame-des-Vents bound for?”
“What port? Why, Marseilles.”
“Is that true?” cried she.
“Quite true.”
“And you know Duclos?”
“I have already told you that I know him.”
She thought awhile.
“Yes, yes, it is well,” said she softly.