“No,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “it is useless—all useless.”
“But if you are in distress I can surely help you,” I said.
“Alas! you cannot,” she answered in despair. “You do not know—you cannot understand.”
“Why not tell me? Confide in me,” I urged.
“No,” she replied. “I am very foolish—forgive me;” and she tried to smile.
“The news that Wolf is here has upset you,” I said. “Why?”
“He has escaped.”
“From where?”
“From prison.”
I was silent. I knew not what to say. This declaration of hers was strange. It was startling news to me that Rodolphe Wolf had been in prison.