“I shouted, but no answer came. I could not find Olive. I remember the awful agony of it. My head seemed turning to fire and I couldn’t find Olive. I don’t remember any more.”
“You fell and knocked yourself senseless,” said Madame.
“Is Olive safe? Tell me, are you sure Olive is safe?”
“Didn’t I tell you I passed her on her way home?” said Madame a little sharply.
“But this fire!” exclaimed Ezra, starting up. “We must get out of this.”
“Hush, lie down again,” said Madame, her voice dropping again into its tone of caressing entreaty. “Your head must be still giddy or you would perceive that we are surrounded. We can’t get out until the fires meet and extinguish each other. Rest and be patient.”
Ezra saw that this was true. They were entirely surrounded by a ring of retreating fire, the heat from which was oppressive. He sat down again, but did not lay his head in Madame’s lap. Perhaps it was because he felt less giddy.
He asked her how she came there, and Madame very briefly told him, dwelling not at all upon her share in finding him, but rather upon the sagacity of Balthasar. Ezra, however, was not to be deceived.
“You risked your life for me this night, Madame,” he said slowly, when she had finished speaking.
“Possibly. I never thought about it. I could not leave you here to die, to be burnt to death. Had the case been reversed you would have come to my rescue.”