"How should I know, mamzelle?"—sadly—"I dread its coming at all."
"Bah! what matters it? And why should it come? I, for one, do not want—— Ah! do not scream so, Jeannette—it is a man—he is hurt."
The man scrambled to his feet, and tried to bow, but his face was ghastly.
"I beg your—pardon——"
"You are hurt, monsieur. Do not try to apologise. Jeannette, help him to the house. Follow me."
The man leant on Jeannette's stout shoulder, and followed the stately little figure through the sunny, twisting paths, sweet and rich with their wealth of roses, up to the old château with its narrow windows gleaming in the sunshine.
"Here, Jeannette," said the little mistress of the roses and the château. "Monsieur, you will rest on the sofa."
He obeyed the wave of the small white hand and lay down.
"Jeannette, send for Dr. Raunay."
Jeannette departed.