"No, no, Madame," he said quickly, anxious to reassure her (for it was plain that in spite of what she had done she did care). "No, his condition is merely the result of the blood he has lost. The doctor said so clearly, and that it would perhaps be as much as a year before he was strong again."
"How did he come to—to lose so much blood?" she asked faintly. "Was it then so long before the enemy found him after . . . after what happened in the Bois des Fauvettes?"
"Not so very long—not more than an hour perhaps; but you see he struggled hard to get free, and being fastened like that, upright——"
He broke off before the uncomprehending horror of the face she had raised. Was it possible that she did not know that essence of "what had happened in the Bois des Fauvettes"?
"Don't you know?" he jerked out almost mechanically.
"Know what? Struggled to get free . . . fastened . . . Monsieur de Courtomer, what awful thing are you talking about?"
And Laurent cursed himself. Aymar had not told her the worst. Equally, of course, he did not wish her to know it.
"Oh, nothing, Madame," he stammered. "I would not for worlds have mentioned it had I not thought that you knew already."
"O God!" cried the girl rather hysterically, "more things kept from me! For pity's sake, Monsieur, try to forget that I am a woman!"
Laurent, recovering himself, bowed. "If you wish it." And on that, sparing her very little, he did tell her the true and full story of the Bois des Fauvettes. But he had the grace not to look at her meanwhile.