"I beg your pardon," said Hans Unwirrsch gently and sadly. "Dr. Théophile Stein is not my friend. Now won't you listen to me?"
"I vill not hear you more! I vill not see you more! I vill not see nozing of ze world more, but ma figure in zis water 'ere!"
This was spoken with such vehemence, such wildness, that Hans involuntarily caught her arm to prevent her jumping into the pool; but she tore herself away, laughed bitterly and then covered her face with both hands and began to cry as bitterly.
"Do let me tell you," exclaimed Hans, "you have spoken hard words to me, you have troubled me very much. I am not conscious of any guilty act toward you and I will help you if I can;—I repeat, I am not Dr. Stein's friend;—I am no longer his friend!"
Slowly she let her hands fall and looked again into Hans' eyes.
"You too accuse him whom you have just mentioned? Tell me what part of his guilt I must take upon myself!" said Hans, softly, and she—she looked him over from head to foot and then,—it was so strange—and then a slight smile crossed her sick, sorrowful features.
"You are not 'is friend?" she asked.
"Not any longer, and it is a great sorrow to me."
Now the French girl took the candidate's hand and her fingers were like iron.
"Monsieur le curé, I am a poor girl and all alone in a strange countree. I am ill, and I am not honnête. I 'ave 'ad a leetle child, but it is dead;—I am all left alone in a strange countree! Oh, Monsieur, 'e is a bad, vicked man and if you are not 'is friend forgive me vat I 'ave said—je n'ai plus rien à dire."