She noticed my thoughtfulness, and suddenly put out her little hand until it touched mine; then, looking into my eyes, she asked, in a low, intense voice—
"What are you thinking about?"
"I am thinking of you, Lola," I replied. "I am wondering what really happened in Cromer, back in the month of June. You are here to explain—eh? Will you tell me?"
Her brows contracted slightly, and she drew her hand back from mine.
"You know what happened," she said.
"I don't. Explain it all to me in confidence," I urged. "You surely know me well enough to rely upon my keeping the secret."
"Ah, no!" she cried, starting up suddenly, a strange light of fear in her eyes. "Never, M'sieu' Vidal! I—I can tell you nothing of that—nothing more than what you already know. Please don't ask me—never ask me again, for I—I can't tell you! It was all too dastardly, too terrible!"
And the girl, with a wild gesture, covered her pale face with her little hands as though to shut out from memory the grim recollection of a scene that was full of bitterness and horror.
"But you will tell me the truth, Lola. Do. I beg of you?" I urged, placing my hand tenderly upon her shoulder.
"No," she cried in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "No. Don't ask me. Please don't ask me."