Cellamare went into an adjoining room, and in a moment returned with a glass of water and a bottle of wine. I dipped my handkerchief in the water and bathed her face. In a moment she opened her eyes.
“Ah, that is better,” I said, supporting her head with my arm. “Now drink some of this, mademoiselle,” and I filled a second glass with wine and held it to her lips. Mechanically she swallowed it, and I saw the color returning to her face.
“Oh, what has happened?” she whispered. “Where am I?”
“Quite safe, I assure you, mademoiselle,” answered Cellamare, and between us we assisted her to her feet.
She looked at him a moment.
“Ah, yes, I recollect,” she cried, suddenly. “I was bringing you the papers. Where are the papers?” and her hands flew to her waist in an agony of apprehension, which I fully shared. “They are safe,” she said, and she drew from the folds of her dress the packet of papers which I had seen Madame du Maine give her. “Take them, M. le Prince,” she added, handing them to him, “and now tell me what has happened.”
“Do you tell us first what happened to you, mademoiselle,” I suggested, “then we can better understand the story.”
“Well,” she said, quickly, “when I left M. de Brancas at the foot of the stairs,” Cellamare bowed to me as she mentioned my name, “I ran quickly up and knocked at the door of this room. A man whom I did not know opened it. He said he had been sent to meet me by M. de Cellamare. He told me to enter, and closed the door behind me. He continued that M. de Cellamare would not be able to keep the appointment, and that I was to leave any papers I might have for him and he would get them later in the day. Something in the man’s manner frightened me, and I replied that I should not leave the papers, but would make another appointment with M. le Prince. I started to leave the room, when he sprang upon me. I threw him off and rushed to the window, broke it, and screamed for help, hoping that M. de Brancas would hear me. At that instant I felt strong fingers on my throat and knew no more.”
I related briefly my share in the adventure, and Cellamare repeated what he had already told me in reference to the stranger.
“Perhaps he can tell us something more,” I suggested, as Cellamare concluded, and I dragged the prostrate man to the wall and propped him against it. He groaned as I did so. “Ah, come,” I said, “he is not dead yet. Let us see where my sword went through him.” I stripped his doublet from his shoulder and found the blood welling from a wound which had undoubtedly pierced his breast, but which was yet some distance above his heart. “This will not kill him if his blood be good,” I remarked, and bathed the wound with my wet handkerchief. The bleeding slowly ceased and I tied the fellow’s scarf tightly over it. “Let us see, now, if we cannot bring him to consciousness,” and prying his teeth apart, I forced a little wine between his lips. He groaned again, and this time opened his eyes. He seemed to comprehend at once where he was, for he glanced from me to Cellamare and back again, and grew even more livid, if such a thing were possible.