“You don’t know me,” she replied gravely. “You wouldn’t say that to me if you did. I’m--I’m not like that.” Fanchon still looked at her steadily, an untamed passion leaping up in her brown eyes like a flame. “_Ma foi_, I know you well enough, I think!” she retorted bitterly. “You’re the woman my husband loved--and you’ve taken him from me! Oh, I know--you can look indignant! You righteous people--oh, _mon Dieu_, how good you are! But you’ve taken him away, for all that.” Virginia, who had never had such things said to her before, recoiled. She drew away, looking at the wild little creature on the bed with a kind of horror. For a moment all her impulses were beaten down, and in the rebound she was ready to turn her back, to abandon the wretched girl to her fate. She felt as if physical blows had been rained upon her, as if she was no longer the Virginia Denbigh who had entered that wretched room on an errand of mercy. “If you say things like that I can’t stay to hear them,” she said hurriedly, speaking with an effort, hot tears in her eyes. “I came to help you, if I could--and you insult me.” Fanchon laughed the shrill laughter of hysterics. “You don’t like it!” she cried wildly. “_Que voulez vous?_ You want only nice things said to you--and I can have all the horrid things and all the insults. That’s all I’ve had since I came here!” Virginia, who was half-way to the door, stood still. Her quick ear had caught the wildness of the laughter, and the poor little huddled figure was sinking weakly forward. She came back. “Fanchon, I came to help you. I’m telling you the truth--can’t you believe me? I should like to help you, if I could.” Fanchon’s face twisted convulsively, and she snatched at the coverlet and drew it up over her shoulders. To Virginia she looked like a wild child playing at “tents” under the counterpane. “_Tiens!_” she cried fretfully. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve always told stories myself, until--until Leigh killed that man. Now, I’m not telling stories. I suppose I can believe that you meant to do something--something queer. That’s what they’ve all done to me since I came. I don’t know why you’re here--I don’t care! _C’est fini_--I’m done with you all!” Virginia started. She remembered William’s words. “I came because you’re ill. I want to help you, to make you more comfortable. That’s really all I came for, Fanchon. I’m sorry you feel so toward us--toward me.” Fanchon shook back her hair and looked at the other girl curiously, her eyes darkening and changing wonderfully. “How pretty she is,” Virginia thought, “and how wretched.” But Fanchon did not speak. For a while she only studied Virginia. At last she spoke slowly, twisting the coverlet. “Were you in court?” she asked. Virginia shook her head. Fanchon’s eyes held hers, with that fierce, dark, challenging look. “But you know my story?” “Yes, I’ve heard it,” Virginia reluctantly answered.