But still you have told me of my real mother when I thought it was Suzanne Valade. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. She would lure him, as he was an easily tempted child predator who could even more easily be turned into prey. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice.
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