"I want to know," he said at length, with a clicking in his throat, "whether you've been paid for what you did for me?"
"I have not been paid for what I did for you."
"When they told me yonder," said Gautran after another pause, pointing in the direction of Geneva, where the prison lay, "that you were to appear for me, they asked me how I managed it, but I couldn't tell them, and I'm beating my head now to find out, without getting any nearer to it. There must be a reason."
"You puzzle and confuse me, master. You're a stranger in Geneva, I'm told."
"I've lived about here half my life. I was born in Sierre. My father worked in the foundry, my mother in the fields. You are not a stranger in Sierre."
"I am a stranger there; I never visited the town."
"My father was born in Martigny. You knew my father."
"My mother--her father once owned a vineyard. You knew her."
Once more was Gautran silent. What he desired now to say raised up images so terrifying that he had not the courage to give it utterance.
"You are in deep shadow, my friend," said the Advocate, "body and soul. Shall I tell you what is in your mind?"
"You wish to know if I was acquainted with the unhappy girl with whose murder you were charged."
"Is there another in the world like you?" asked Gautran, with fear in his voice. "Yes, that is what I want to know."
Gautran retreated a step or two, in positive terror. "Then what," he exclaimed, "in the fiend's name made you come forward?"
"At length," said the Advocate, "we arrive at an interesting point in our conversation. I thank you for the opportunity you afford me in questioning my inner self. What made me come forward to the assistance of such a scoundrel? Humanity? No. Sympathy? No. What, then, was my motive? Indeed, friend, you strike home. Shall I say I was prompted by a desire to assist the course of justice--or by a contemptible feeling of vanity to engage in a contest for the simple purpose of proving myself the victor? It was something of both, mayhap. Do you know, Gautran, a kind of self-despisal stirs within me at the present moment? You do not understand me? I will give you a close illustration. You are a thief."
"You steal sometimes from habit, to keep your hand in as it were, and you feel a certain satisfaction at having accomplished your theft in a workmanlike manner. We are all of us but gross and earthly patches. It is simply a question of degree, and it is because I am in an idle mood--indeed, I am grateful to you for this playful hour--that I make a confession to you which would not elevate me in the eyes of better men. You were anxious to know whether I have been paid for my services. I now acknowledge payment. I accept as my fee the recreation you have afforded me."