“That’s what’s so terrible,” he said, looking away from her after his first rush of relieved recognition. “My God, Miss Nelson,—it’s—it looked as if it were cut to pieces.”
Félicie’s face! That glory and wonder of perfection—cut to pieces! What would be left? Her senses reeled.
“Where are the doctors? Where are they? I must see them. What do they say?”
“They’re with her now. They’re coming down here—as soon as they finish.”
She looked at him, acknowledging his injuries for the first time. “You weren’t hurt badly?”
“No.” He brushed his affairs aside. “What did you do—about notifying people?”
“I didn’t wake Madame Durant. I wired her—her fiancé.”
“Her—fiancé!” He took a step back. “I didn’t know she was engaged.”
“She—isn’t,” mumbled Joy. “But it’s the man she loves and who loves her and they intend to get married some day—what do they call it nowadays?”
It was a ghostly place, a hospital at that hour of the morning. A nurse dozed at the switchboard in the hall. The lights were subdued. Silence was terrible.