"Why, we have both been asleep!" she murmured, a little weakly.
At the sound of her voice it all came back to him, a tangled, hideous nightmare. He sat down again upon the couch and held his head between his hands.
"How did I come here?" he asked. "I can't remember!"
She hesitated. He answered the unspoken question in her eyes.
"I remember everything that happened at the club," he went on slowly. "Is the prince dead?"
She shook her head.
"Of course not! He was hurt, though, and there was a terrible scene of confusion in the room. The people crowded around him, and I managed, somehow, to drag you away. The manager helped us. To tell the truth, he was only too anxious for you to get away before the police arrived. He was so afraid of anything getting into the papers. I drove you back here, and, as you still seemed stunned, I brought you up-stairs. I didn't mean to stay, but I couldn't get you to say a single coherent word. I was afraid to leave you alone!"
"I suppose I was drunk," he said, in a dull tone. "I remember filling my glass over and over again. There is one thing, though," he added, his voice gaining a sudden strength; "I was not drunk when I struck the prince! I remember those few seconds very distinctly. I saw everything, knew everything, felt everything. If no one had interfered, I think I should have killed him!"
"You were not drunk at all," she declared, with a little shiver, "but you were in a state of terrible excitement. It was a long time before I could get you to lie down, and then you wouldn't close your eyes until I came and sat by your side. I watched you go to sleep. I hope you are not angry with me! I didn't like to go and leave you."
"How could I be angry?" he protested. "You are far kinder to me than I deserve. I expect I should have been in a police cell but for you!"