"Help!" he stammered. "You ask me to help you? Look at me! I can give you no help!"
He suddenly broke off. He sat down at the table, buried his face in his hands, and burst into tears. Pamela crossed to him and laid her hand very gently upon his shoulder. She spoke very gently, too.
"Oh yes, you can," she said.
He drew away from her, but she would not be repulsed.
"You should never have come to me at all," he sobbed. "Oh, how I hate that you should see me like this! Why did you come? I did not mean you to see me. You must have known that! You must have known, too, why. It was not kind of you, mademoiselle. No, it was not kind!"
"Yet I am glad that I came," said Pamela. "I came, thinking of myself, it is true--my need is so very great; but now I see your need is as great as mine. I ask you to rise up and help me."
"No, leave me alone!" he cried. And she answered, gently, "I will not."
M. Giraud grew quiet. He pressed his handkerchief to his eyes, and stood up.
"Forgive me!" he said. "I have behaved like a child; but you would forgive me if you knew how I have waited and waited for you to come back. But you never did. Each summer I said, 'She will return in the winter!' And the winter came, and I said, 'She will come in the spring.' But neither in winter nor in the spring did you return to Roquebrune. I have needed you so badly all these years."
"I am sorry," replied Pamela; "I am very sorry."