Soft and clear the whistling still persisted. Chérie placed the baby in its cradle, stooped over him and kissed him. Then she went to the window and stood on tiptoe to look out—for the window was high and round, like a ship's porthole.
The whistling stopped. Somebody standing in the shadow of the wall stepped forward.
And Chérie's heart stood still.
CHAPTER XXV
She staggered back from the window and looked wildly round her. It was Florian. It was Florian! What should she do? The child—where could she hide the child?
The low whistle outside was repeated, there was a note of haste, of urgency in it. She must let him in. How had he got here? Surely he was in danger, there in the open street....
Chérie looked at herself, looked down at her loose white gown still unfastened at neck and breast—the child's warm white resting-place. Louise's black shawl lay across a chair. She took it and flung it hastily round her shoulders; holding it tightly about her as she ran down the stairs and opened the door.
Florian stepped quickly into the passage, closing the door behind him. He looked strange in his oil-skin coat and slouch hat. The glimpse Chérie caught of his face as he entered showed it hard and thin and dark. Now in the shadowy passage she could not distinguish his features.
He caught her hand and pressed it tightly in his own. "Chérie!... Chérie!" His voice was hoarse with emotion. "Who is here with you?" he whispered.