"Nobody," she replied.
"What? Are you alone in the house?"
"Yes," faltered Chérie, withdrawing her hand from his. "I mean...." and she stopped.
"Surely," he whispered anxiously, "you are not living here alone? Where are the others? Where is Louise?"
"She is here—she has gone out. She will soon come back."
Florian drew a sigh of relief. "Let us go upstairs," he said; and stretched out his hand to take hers again. "What a cold little hand! And how you tremble!" He bent down and looked closely into her face. "Did I frighten you?"
"Yes," said Chérie.
"You look like a ghost." Suddenly a different note came into his voice, a note of anxiety and alarm. "What is the matter, have you been ill?"
"Yes," breathed Chérie.
He asked nothing more but put his arm round her, helping and hurrying her up the two flights of stone stairs. He threw open the sitting-room door and looked round the familiar place. "The Saints be praised," he murmured, and drew her into the room.