Perhaps that was one reason why the man could confide in him.
And then, when Marteau lay in the delirium of fever, the boy had shared their watches with the good Sisters of Charity.

He alone had understood the burden of his ravings, for they were all about the woman.

And, when she questioned him and gave him the opportunity, he poured forth in turn all the stored treasure of his memory.
And the poor, distraught, unhappy young woman hung on his words with heaving breast and panting heart and tear-dimmed eyes and cheeks that flushed and paled.

Glad she was that he had so loved her; sad that it could make no difference.

Indeed, young Pierre served his master well in that hour, and earned whatsoever reward, however great it might be, he should receive from him in the future.
How strangely selfish even in its loves is humanity! Although Marteau was intensely fond of the lad, and deeply devoted to him, absorbed in his overwhelming affection for the woman he had forgot the boy until too late to send for him that day.