‘Stop!’ I cried. ‘You will kill yourself!’
‘What matter!’ he exclaimed; and staggered off to the darkness of the bedroom.
I followed him with the lamp, but he had already fallen on the bed, and seemed to be heavily asleep. I shook him; he made no response.
‘At any cost he must he roused,’ I said aloud. ‘He must be forced to walk.’
There was a knocking at the outer door, low, discreet, and continuous. It sounded to me like a deliverance. Whoever might be there must aid me to waken Diaz. I ran to the door, taking the key out of my pocket, and opened it. A tall woman stood on the doormat. It was the girl that I had glimpsed on the previous night in the large hat ascending the stairs with a man. But now her bright golden head was uncovered, and she wore a blue peignoir, such as is sold ready made, with its lace and its ribbons, at all the big Paris shops.
We both hesitated.
‘Oh, pardon, madame,’ she said, in a thin, sweet voice in French. ‘I was at my door, and it seemed to me that I heard—a revolver. Nothing serious has passed, then? Pardon, madame.’
‘Nothing, thank you. You are very amiable, madame,’ I replied stiffly.
‘All my excuses, madame,’ said she, turning away.
‘No, no!’ I exclaimed. ‘I am wrong. Do not go. Someone is ill—very ill. If you would—’