“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said softly. “Your number is the next one, Mrs. Carter.”
Fanchon turned to answer, putting out a small, bejeweled hand, confident and smiling, a sparkling little creature. Then suddenly there came a change. She stopped short and stood motionless. She scarcely seemed to breathe. It was as if some force stronger than her will had arrested her.
Watching her face, Virginia felt the shock of it, without knowing what it was—fear or hate, or a mingling of both. But Fanchon’s eyes were fixed on Corwin, and they were no longer soft. It was not the look of a wild fawn, but of a tigress at bay. Something within, some feeling as strong as it was extraordinary, transformed her. For an instant she seemed to flinch, then she stood facing him.
The man, turning as suddenly, saw her. He jumped to his feet.
“Fanchon la Fare!” he exclaimed, and came toward her, speaking rapidly in French.
Virginia turned away. She did not want to listen, but she heard an exclamation from Fanchon, and saw her leave Corwin standing, an odd look on his face.
Leigh, who had been busy with the wraps, turned, saw the meeting and Fanchon’s face. He dropped his burden and crossed over to her quickly.
“What did he say to you, Fanchon?” he panted. “If he was rude to you, I’ll—I’ll thrash him!”
Fanchon laughed a wild little laugh.
“Dear boy!” she said softly, and stroked his hand. “Je t’adore!”