“Hush!” said Virginia steadily. “I wouldn’t stay here if you were not so ill, Fanchon, you’re trembling and shaking. Let me get a doctor for you; let me take you out of this wretched place.” Fanchon laughed again hysterically. “It’s a fine place, isn’t it? _Tiens!_ The place for Mrs. William Carter. You see I have no money. _Mon Dieu_, I wouldn’t take a cent of his--I’d starve first!” “I understand.” Virginia laid her hand gently on her shoulder. “I should feel like that myself. But I’m a woman, Fanchon--let me help you while you’re so ill.” Something in her touch, her voice, reached the girl. She stopped shivering and looked up into Virginia’s face. She looked up steadily, her own face changing and quivering. Then, suddenly, she sank back in her chair very pale and quiet, her large eyes fixed not on Virginia now, but on space. “He was the only good man who ever loved me,” she said in a low voice. “I’m not bad--I’ve never been bad--but they thought I was, and I lied to him. I was afraid that if he knew I was divorced he wouldn’t care for me--not in that way--and it would have killed me then.” Her voice broke pitifully. “I--I loved him.” Her head sank mournfully, she began to tear at the elaborate lace petticoat she wore. “You mean William?” said Virginia gently. She nodded. Then, with a convulsive effort, she went on, more to herself than to Virginia. “He was good, and he loved me. He asked me to marry him, and I lied. I said I’d never been married before. I needn’t have said it, but I was afraid. I lied. And he hates me.” Her voice wavered again. “He hates me. I shall never see him again!” “But you love him still, Fanchon,” Virginia said softly; “and if you love him you’ll forgive him.” Fanchon’s face flamed suddenly. “Never! I don’t want to see him again.” She rose unsteadily. “I’m going to dress and go out there.” She pointed toward the door, laughing again and trembling at the same time. “That fat man is out there. I’m going into his pictures. He’s not afraid to engage me for his show.” “You can’t go, Fanchon,” said Virginia quickly. “You’re too ill. I must help you.” She stopped, and her eyes filled with tears. “Fanchon, I’m so sorry for you, I hope you understand. Let me help you.” Fanchon turned, caught at a chair-back, and clung to it, laughing wildly. “You’re so sorry for me--and he loves you!” “No,” said Virginia, “he shan’t! If he did, it would make no difference. Fanchon, I want you to leave this place and come with me. Let me take care of you. You’re too ill to stand up.” “To stand up? Why, I’m going to dance for the pictures. You call me ill? I can dance. _Attendez!_” She let go of the chair to which she had been clinging, and seemed to listen, her head bent and her brown eyes brilliant, her whole small figure quivering and tense. “_Mon Dieu_--I hear it--the music!”