"I might be of use, sir."
He considered her a second in silence.
"You may stay," he said.
"And I?" said Aspasia, her pallid tear-stained face was thrust pleadingly forward.
"You will do better to go, my child," said the Frenchman, paternally.
"Doctor ... she will not die?"
"Assuredly not this night at least," he replied, evasive yet consoling. From the door she flung back a piteous look at English, and once again his eyes answered her: "She will not die."
Harry English took the last unextinguished candle and laid it on the floor. Outside, the yellow grey dawn was breaking.
"I want hot bottles," ordered Dr. Châtelard of Mary; and when she had left the room, he turned to the strange man who had called himself Lady Gerardine's husband.
"You, too, sir," he said. "You must leave us."