“Jeanne!—Jeanne!—I implore you—help me. It is I—Eline, oh, help me! help me, do!”
“Great heavens, Eline!” Jeanne cried, as she stood paralyzed with astonishment.
“Help me, do. I have—run away from them. Help me, do, or I shall die.”
She sank down soaking wet at Jeanne’s feet, and where she lay the stairs were soon wet with the water that dripped from her cloak.
“Great heavens, Eline! Eline!” cried Jeanne, who could not believe her own eyes.
Eline had burst out sobbing, and remained crouched at Jeanne’s feet. Jeanne attempted to lift her up; and wherever her hands touched her, she felt her icy cold and soaked through with the rain.
“In Heaven’s name, Eline, what have you done? What has happened? You are so wet—so wet—wet and cold all over. Great heavens, Eline!” She led Eline, who walked with tottering steps, into Frans’s little office, and set down the lamp. Eline fell exhausted on a chair, the dirty rain-water oozing through her clothes.
“Yes—yes,” cried Eline. “I have run away from them, I could not stop with them any longer. And I have come to you—because I don’t know where else to go. Oh, Jeanne, do, do help me!” she went on, in a voice broken with sobs.
Jeanne trembled with nervousness and pity.
“Tell me about that afterwards, Eline. Let me undress you—you will be ill in these wet things.”