acts of virtue -- when I have the chance of performing them. It has been the misfortune of my life that I have had few chances. My conception of friendship is sublime I Is it my fault that your skeleton has peeped out at me? Why do I confess my curiosity? You poor superficial Englishman, it is to magnify my own self-control. I could draw your secret out of you, if I liked, as I draw this finger out of the palm of my hand -- you know I could! But you have appealed to my friendship, and the duties of friendship are sacred to me. See! I trample my base curiosity under my feet. My exalted sentiments lift me above it. Recognise them, Percival! imitate them, Percival! Shake hands -- I forgive you.'
His voice faltered over the last words -- faltered, as if he were actually shedding tears!
Sir Percival confusedly attempted to excuse himself, but the Count was too magnanimous to listen to him.
`No!' he said. `When my friend has wounded me, I can pardon him without apologies. Tell me, in plain words, do you want my help?'
`Yes, badly enough.'
`And you can ask for it without compromising yourself?'
`I can try, at any rate.'
`Try, then.'
`Well, this is how it stands: -- I told you today that I had done my best to find Anne Catherick, and failed.'
`Yes, you did.'
`Fosco! I'm a lost man if I don't find her.'
`Ha! Is it so serious as that?'
A little stream of light travelled out under the verandah, and fell over the gravel-walk. The Count had taken the lamp from the inner part of the room to see his friend clearly by the light of it.
`Yes!' he said. `Your face speaks the truth this time. Serious, indeed -- as serious as the money matters themselves.'
`More serious. As true as I sit here, more serious!'
The light disappeared again and the talk went on.
`I showed you the letter to my wife that Anne Catherick hid in the sand,' Sir Percival continued. `There's no boasting in that letter, Fosco -- she does know the Secret.'
`Say as little as possible, Percival, in my presence, of the Secret. Does she know it from you?'
`No, from her mother.'
`Two women in possession of your private mind -- bad, bad, bad, my friend I One question here, before we go any farther. The motive of your shutting up the daughter in the asylum is now plain enough to me, but the manner of her escape is not quite so clear. Do you suspect the people in charge of her of closing their eyes purposely, at the instance of some enemy who could afford to make it worth their while?'
`No, she was the best-behaved patient they had -- and, like fools, they trusted her. She's just mad enough to be shut up, and just sane enough to ruin me when she's at large -- if you understand that?'