She shook her head mournfully.
"Alas! That would be of no avail," she declared in a low, strained voice.
"Why?"
"Because—because, ah!—you do not know the truth," she faltered, her face pale to the lips.
"Cannot you explain it to me?" I asked, bending down to her, and placing my hand tenderly upon her shoulder.
I felt her shudder beneath my touch, while her big blue eyes were downcast—downcast in shame.
"No. I cannot explain," she replied. "If you knew, M'sieur Vidal, how horrible, how terrible all this is for me, you would not press your question."
"But I do—in your interests," I said with deep earnestness. "I want to help you to escape from these scoundrels—I want to stand as your friend."
"My friend!" she exclaimed blankly. "My friend—ah! that you can never be."