Her face quivered like the face of a terrified child, and she gripped Doris as a drowning person clutches a rope. Doris knew herself instantly to be the more capable, the stronger, of the two.
"Has he been ill long? Tell me—" and she held the little cold hands firmly. "Don't be frightened. Just tell me."
"Only a day or two—poorly—just poorly—only that!—and I didn't think anything of it. He is so well always. And he tried to hide it. He wouldn't wake me all night. I never guessed what he was going through. And this morning he is in such pain—and he looks dreadful. I've never had to do with any illnesses. I've never nursed anybody. And I can't talk French—and I've no one to ask—only a girl from another part. She doesn't know."
"He must see a doctor."
"But there's no doctor in the village."
"Then you must send to Bex."
"Will you—will you help me? I don't know how to manage. It's all so strange—and he has done everything."
"I'll find out about doctors for you, and which is the quickest way. There's an Englishman at our hotel—if only I can catch him before he goes out! He is so kind, I am sure he would help. If not, Mademoiselle will advise me. But Mr. Maurice would be best."
"Maurice!" The name arrested her. "A friend of ours—a Mr. Maurice—was coming out to Switzerland soon."
"This is a Mr. R. R. Maurice—spelt M-a-u—"