“I didn’t tell your brother? _Non!_ I didn’t tell. Now, listen--I’ll tell you all, and you can tell your brother,” she added bitterly. “I was fifteen, and I was small for my years. Corwin trained me. He saw what I could do, and he trained me like a spaniel. For what? To support him, _mon ami_! I danced and I sang for four years to support a man who never worked. He lived on me. Sometimes I was ill, sometimes I was broken with grief and shame, but it made no difference--he lived on what I made. I was worth more than the money he had paid--a hundred times over! When he was drunk he beat me. I’ve had black welts on my shoulders that I had to hide when I danced. I was sixteen then, and afraid, deadly afraid of him. I was even afraid to run away. Then I grew older, and I tried to get a divorce in Paris, but I couldn’t. I tried in London, and failed again. He saw to that. Then I knew I must wait. I was American; I was born here. I waited. By and by Aristide brought me to New York and put me in a company to tour the Western States. That was luck--great luck--for he was ill. He was strong as an ox, but he had appendicitis, and had to go to a hospital in New York. I went to California. I was just twenty-one. I told William I was eighteen, but I’m twenty-four. In California I got a divorce for cruelty. I got my freedom. From a child I had been in the hands of a brute; suddenly I was free!” She looked up again, pressing her hands against her breast. “_Mon Dieu_, I can’t tell you what I felt!” She ceased speaking and sank down again on her elbows. This time she tore at the cushions with her restless fingers. “Go on,” said Daniel ruthlessly. “This doesn’t bring us to Leigh.” She looked around at him, her face twisting oddly to keep back her tears.