Daniel nodded and made his way to the small room over the front door, which his mother had hastily converted into a boudoir for the bride. He remembered the night when Leigh had helped her put a fresh polish on the floor before they laid the new rug. These little things seemed to crowd into his mind, bringing back Leigh’s boyish face in the dim cell, his terror of the dead Corwin. He knocked gently at the closed door. “Come in,” said Fanchon’s voice. Daniel entered and stood still. The little room, finished in pink and white, was in wild disorder. A small hat-box trunk stood open, a traveling-bag gaped, half-packed, and innumerable articles, large and small, were scattered on the chairs and on the floor. Stretched on a lounge, in front of the window, lay Fanchon. Her head was on her arms, and her soft hair, falling loose over her shoulders, hid her face. She wore some loose black robe which made her small figure look even smaller and more childish than usual. There was something in her very attitude broken and forlorn, and Daniel felt his first touch of actual pity for her as she rose on her elbow and lifted her haggard face from her arm. Her eyes were hollow, and even her lips were white. No touch of rouge concealed the havoc of a sleepless night and a day of anguish. Her expression so amazed Daniel that he stood still, just inside the door, looking at her. Fanchon straightened up, dropping her feet to the floor, and holding herself erect in her place by gripping the edge of the lounge with nervous, shaking fingers. “Is--is Leigh in jail?” she asked faintly, her dark eyes fixed on Daniel’s face. He nodded. “Held for the grand jury. Haven’t they told you?” “No one tells me anything; no one speaks to me! I’m going away; I’m packing up. But Leigh? _Mon Dieu!_ I’m human, I want to know about Leigh!” “I came here to ask you to help me save Leigh,” said Daniel quietly. “It’s got to be either murder or manslaughter. It depends on you, Fanchon.” “On me?” She drew a long breath, her eyes darkening with emotion. “_Que voulez vous?_ What can I do?” “Tell us the whole story, Fanchon. Tell us about Corwin. I’ve no doubt at all that he deserved to be shot--but not by Leigh.” Fanchon drew in her breath, setting her small, white teeth hard on her under lip. She did not look toward Daniel, but away into a corner of the room, as if she saw things unseen and terrible. A deep blush mounted suddenly and painfully to her forehead. Daniel waited patiently, leaning against the door. At last she turned and raised her eyes pitifully to his. “Why must I tell?” she asked brokenly, twisting her handkerchief about with feverish fingers, tears coming suddenly and running down her cheeks.