“Possibly bereaved. Poor lady. But I know nothing of her. But do you not see a man of much the same appearance as myself?”
“No. I mean, yes. He has just come into view. He is remarkably like you. He walks very fast.”
At this the man in my room sat down and looked very white and shaky. His back-bone seemed to have been taken out and he was all huddled up.
“You can’t faint in here, you know,” I said sharply.
“Has he gone?” he asked hoarsely.
“Gone? Of course he’s gone. He’s at the other end of the street by this time.” As I spoke I poured out a glass of water and handed it to him. He thanked me, protested that he was not in the least faint, and took a sip of the water. Then he turned to me.
“Now, mademoiselle, I must really explain myself.”
“Well?” I said. I rather liked the idea of having helped him to escape. Any woman would help anyone to escape from anything. And after all, this was more romantic than talking about corkscrews to a shopman who did not want to listen.
“I have been hunted,” he said. “I have been hunted all the morning. Three years ago I left France to get away from this man who, by the way, is my brother. For those three years I have been in England. You see I speak the English very nicely—is it not so?”
“Yes, you speak it well enough. Go on.”