All of a sudden Honor came wide awake, and sat up in bed, listening. Some one _was_ crying! not far from her; long, heavy sobs, full of a dull, hopeless pain. Where--what--who? Honor put out her hand and encountered the smooth iron of her bed. Of course! she was at home, in Pension Madeleine! In the cell on her right was Stephanie: in that on the left--Maria Patterson.
It was from the left that the sobs came. Honor listened intently; dreadful sobs; her heart ached to hear them! She slipped quietly out of bed, turned the handle of the door noiselessly, groped for the next handle--another moment and she was beside Maria, where she sat sobbing in her bed; her warm arms were pressing close the cold, shivering body, her smooth cheek was laid against the other, wet with bitter tears.
“Maria! don’t, my dear! don’t cry! hush! oh, poor thing, hush! there! there!”
Honor rocked back and forth, as if she were soothing a little child. Pity flowed from her like a warm current; she felt the rigid form relax, the head sink on her shoulder. The sobs continued, but they were less heavy and dreadful, more like natural crying.
“There! there!” repeated Honor. “Now you are better, dear. Let me cover you up a little; you are half frozen.”
“Is it--is it Honor?” Maria spoke in a broken whisper.
“Yes! but let me rub your hands, Maria! I’m going to get my hot-water bottle!”
“No! no! don’t leave me! stay just a little longer! You don’t know--or did they tell you?”
“You shall tell me!” Honor gently forced Maria to lie down, and tucked the bed-clothes round her. “Lie still a moment, and I’ll come back.”
In three minutes she was back with the hot-water bottle.
“There! it’s not very hot, just right to hold in your hands. Now tell--no, I won’t take cold; I have my wrapper on, and it’s warm as soup. Tell me all about it, Maria!”
“How good you are!” she said. “But you won’t believe me, Honor: nobody would; and then you will go, and I shall be all alone in the world!”
“Nonsense!” said Honor decidedly. “I _shall_ believe you! Go ahead!”
Brokenly, in a voice shaken by sobs, with bursts of bitter weeping, Maria told her piteous story; how she had seen and admired the ring on Patricia’s finger; a curious little ring, a circle of gold wire with a tiny golden mouse running loose on it. She wanted to see how it went; Patricia hated her so, she could not ask. Then--one day--Patricia’s door was open, and Maria knew she was in the garden.