"Yes,—oh, no, no! You must not come. I will not talk to you. I cannot! I cannot!"
Patricia was amazed at her incoherent distress, and could make nothing out of the contradictory statements she uttered.
"But I thought you would be glad to see me, Virginie. I was so delighted to find out where you were. And you are in trouble too, or danger, or are worried about something. Won't you tell me about it? I came all this way to find out how you were and what I can do to help you."
"You can do nothing," the girl answered dully. "Go back and never think of me or try to see me again. It is the only safe thing for you."
"But I do not understand!" cried Patricia, in despair. "What can you mean, Virginie? Didn't you call me up last night and warn me of danger and say you too were in danger, but you didn't have time to finish, or were cut off, or something. I was so worried about you and—and I—found out where you were, and have come to find out all about it."
"I tried to warn you not to come," Virginie answered, "but I—but I—did not get a chance to finish. I—I could not make you understand. When I said I was in danger I—I only—meant in danger of being overheard."
"But, Virginie," cried Patricia, in utter bewilderment, "what do you mean by 'warning me not to come'? How could you think I was coming, when I didn't even know where you were? It was only by an—an accident that I found out where you were—later."
The girl stared at her fixedly, a sudden light dawning in her face.
"But, tell me, how did you come?" she whispered excitedly. "Was it not with—with Madame Vanderpoel?"
"With Madame Vanderpoel? Indeed not!" exclaimed Patricia, and to her utter discomfiture, Virginie murmured a faint, "I am so glad!" and dropped in a huddled heap on the ground, hiding her face in her hands.