Jacqueline shook her head with a solemnity born of the stimulants, and went on thickly:
"I'd be ashamed! He might despise me or reproach me, and I couldn't stand that. He—he—thinks I died years ago and—and I'm glad of it Oh, Raymond! My boy, my laddie!" And again there was a quick burst of tears.
Marie sprang up hastily and hurried over to the table, touching the sobbing woman gently on the arm.
"Oh, madame! Don't cry, don't cry!" she pleaded, with clumsy sympathy.
"Better be warned by my case!" wept the woman, in a high, queer voice. "You're a pretty girl—now—but you—won't be long! Your lover'll leave you as mine left me! Men—soon get tired. I used to be pretty, too!"
The girl began to cry at the sight of the other's distress.
"I'm sure Anatole will never leave me!" she whimpered.
Jacqueline's tears stopped as suddenly as if they had been turned off at a spigot and she sat up, rigid.
"Then you're a d——d fool!" she snapped
Marie wept more bitterly.