Eva stepped forward, trembling a little, and took the child's limp hand in hers. "Mireille," she said. The blue eyes were turned full upon her for an instant, then they wavered and wandered away. "What has happened to her? What made her like this?" asked Eva, in a low voice.
"Fear," replied the girl, her lips tightening. And she said no more.
"Fear of what?" insisted Eva, with the unconscious cruelty of youth and kindness.
"The Germans came to our house," faltered the girl; "they ... they frightened her." Again her quivering lips closed tightly; a wave of crimson flooded her delicate face. Then the colour faded quickly, leaving behind it a waxen pallor and a deep shadow round her eyes.
"Were they unkind to her? Did they hurt her?" gasped Eva, and for the first time, as she gazed at that motionless child figure, her startled soul seemed to realize the meaning of war.
"No; they did not hurt her. They did nothing to her. But she was frightened" ... her arm went round the child's drooping shoulders, "and because she cried they ... they bound her ... to an iron railing...."
"They bound her to an iron railing!... How cruel, how wicked!" cried Eva.
"Yes, they were cruel," said the girl, and a terrified look came into her eyes. She moved back a little, nearer to the other woman, the tall black figure that stood silent, looking down at the glowing embers of the fire. She had neither moved nor spoken since Eva had entered the room.
Eva continued her questioning.
"And were you frightened, too?"