"But your mother! If her son--"
"I have my duty, that is enough," he said in the same tone, "Get up,
Madame Didier, and let me know the truth of all this matter. This
explains your unwillingness that I should return with you. Who's the
man?"
"My husband, monsieur," sobbed Marie, springing up and putting her hand
in Jean's.
"How came he here?"
"Monsieur, he escaped and crawled here."
"And how has he been supported?"
"By me," said the wife simply.
Plon had recoiled during this explanation, and gazed helplessly from one
to the other.
"Go on," said Leblanc, taking out a note-book.
"He has not been out of this room for three years--three years! That is
a long time for a man to be shut up," pleaded Marie, with her heart in
her eyes. "And, _M. le Commissaire_, you must understand it was all a
mistake. He tried to stop them, but they dragged him along, the
Communists, and then one of them turns round and denounces him. There
are very wicked people in the world, _M. le Commissaire_."
"His name?"
Jean answered for her:
"The name of that man was Fort."
Leblanc turned the pages of his note-book more quickly."
Dumont--Court--ah, here it is, 'Jean Didier, glazier, with insurgents;
pointed out as Communist by one Fort; executed on spot.' Is that
correct?"
"He was innocent," said Marie, nervously twisting her fingers.
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