Mr. Hovey took down my statement and Dr. Haverstock witnessed it. I was told that I should have to appear in court at the trial of Madame's accomplices. At that, I shrank, and looked helplessly at Dr. Haverstock, and my eyes, in spite of all I could do, filled with tears.
“Oh, my dear,” said the doctor kindly, “it will be a long time yet. You will be strong enough to face anything.”
“There are some things,” I murmured shakily, “that I shall never be able to face.” I covered my eyes with my hands, and turned against the pillow.
I heard Dr. Haverstock whisper something, and I knew that Hovey and he had left the room. Paul had not said a word to me except the necessary questions. His face had been expressionless and pale. What else could I expect? How could any man act otherwise to the daughter of the famous Madame Trème?
The doctor, Mary, Mrs. Brane, were all wonderfully kind. I broke down again under Mrs. Brane's kindness.
“Oh, Janice, my poor child,” she said to me when I was at last allowed to see her, “why did n't you come to me? Why did you try to bear all this terror and misery yourself?”
I held her hand. “I wish I had come to you, dear Mrs. Brane. I wish for very many reasons that I had had the humility and good sense to do so. What now is there, except that statement of my wretched mother, to keep you, the whole world, every one, from thinking that I was a thief myself? From putting that construction upon my insane behavior here?”
“Well, Janice,” she said indulgently, “there is one person to prevent it. I, for one, would never have the courage to suggest such a theory in Paul Hovey's presence. He has written up your rescue of him so movingly, and told the story of it so appealingly, that I think you are rather in danger of being a sort of national heroine. In the papers, my dear, you are painted in the most glowing colors. I should n't wonder if there would be a movie written about you.”
“Paul,” I said,—“Paul has told it?”
“Yes, Paul. And I think he owes you an amende. In fact, we all do. I engaged a detective the day after Delia and Jane and Annie left, and very well I knew, of course, that our young student visitor was Skane's cleverest man. But I did not guess that from the first moment he suspected you. Poor child! Poor Janice! What misery you have been through all by your brave, desolate, little self!”