Her expression so amazed Daniel that he stood still, just inside the door, looking at her. Fanchon straightened up, dropping her feet to the floor, and holding herself erect in her place by gripping the edge of the lounge with nervous, shaking fingers.
“Is—is Leigh in jail?” she asked faintly, her dark eyes fixed on Daniel’s face.
He nodded.
“Held for the grand jury. Haven’t they told you?”
“No one tells me anything; no one speaks to me! I’m going away; I’m packing up. But Leigh? Mon Dieu! I’m human, I want to know about Leigh!”
“I came here to ask you to help me save Leigh,” said Daniel quietly. “It’s got to be either murder or manslaughter. It depends on you, Fanchon.”
“On me?” She drew a long breath, her eyes darkening with emotion. “Que voulez vous? What can I do?”
“Tell us the whole story, Fanchon. Tell us about Corwin. I’ve no doubt at all that he deserved to be shot—but not by Leigh.”
Fanchon drew in her breath, setting her small, white teeth hard on her under lip. She did not look toward Daniel, but away into a corner of the room, as if she saw things unseen and terrible. A deep blush mounted suddenly and painfully to her forehead. Daniel waited patiently, leaning against the door. At last she turned and raised her eyes pitifully to his.
“Why must I tell?” she asked brokenly, twisting her handkerchief about with feverish fingers, tears coming suddenly and running down her cheeks.