Presently someone touched her shoulder very gently. It was Félicité.
"What is it, my dear?" the elder woman asked. "What has happened?"
And Brigit, too unstrung to tell the usual conventional lies, simply sobbed on, her whole body shaking with agony.
Madame Joyselle sat patiently by her, stroking her shoulders with a kind hand, murmuring little broken phrases in French, patting her hair.
"Oui, oui, ma mie—Pauvre petite, ça te soulagera—Pleures, ma cocotte, pleures!"
And at last the girl was quiet, and reached for her handkerchief.
"I—I am sorry to have been so idiotic, I don't know why I am such a fool——"
Félicité smoothed back her wet hair and smiled at her.
"Poor child," she answered quietly. "I am so sorry. I have seen it for some time——"
Brigit stared at her.