Very reluctantly the girl assented and followed Patricia. Once established in the cool, pleasant, half-darkened sitting-room, however, her hesitancy seemed suddenly to vanish. Patricia insisted that she occupy the couch, which she finally consented to do, though patently more to please her hostess than herself.
"I am not sick; my head does not ache at all. Madame Vanderpoel was—er—mistaken." And, indeed, she looked the picture of health, now that her eyes were returning to a normal appearance.
"Never mind. She must have been worried about you, or she wouldn't have asked me to see to you. So lie down here for a while, and I'll sit by you and do this fancy-work. I suppose I ought to be knitting, but I do get so tired of it at times. Do you ever embroider?"
"Ah, I—I love it!" cried Virginie, in sudden enthusiasm. "Anything of the—artistic I love and have studied to do." It was when she grew excited, Patricia noticed, that her language became a trifle confused.
"Tell me," Patricia suddenly asked—"that is, if you don't mind—what nationality are you? I had thought perhaps you were French."
The girl's manner again grew restrained. But she only replied in a voice very low and tense, "I am a Belgian!"
Patricia impulsively dropped on her knees by the couch and took both of Virginie's hands in her own.
"You poor, poor darling!" she murmured. "And did you—were you driven out of the country?"
"We lived in Antwerp," Virginie replied simply. "My father and I have always lived there. My mother is long dead. When the war came, I was being educated—in one of the best schools. At first it was thought there would be no danger. Antwerp was thought to be—what you call—impregnable. Then, when the Germans had taken Malines and Louvain and Liège, Madame Vanderpoel (she is my mother's sister-in-law), came to take me away from the school, to take me to England. She told my father it was too dangerous, that he should flee also. But he would not go. He is an old man, and I am the last of his children. He was too old for army service, but he said he would remain and defend his villa there in Antwerp. He declared the city could not be taken. But he insisted that I go away to England—to safety. He sent me from him, though it broke our two hearts—and I have never seen him since. You know what happened to Antwerp."
She hid her face in the pillows and shook with unrepressed sobbing. Patricia knew not what to say to comfort the stricken girl. For several moments she only smoothed the dark hair in silence, but her touch was evidently soothing, for Virginie presently sat up and dried her eyes. She continued no further, however, with any personal disclosures.