"Oh, well!" Chris's relief eclipsed her dismay. "That doesn't matter so much," she said. "Let us get out of this horrid little tunnel, anyhow. Oh, darling Cinders! He wants to kiss you. Do you mind?"
Bertrand laughed involuntarily. But she was droll, this English child! Was it possible that she did not realize the seriousness of the dilemma in which she found herself? Well, if not—he shrugged his shoulders—it was not for him to enlighten her. As comrades in trouble they would endure their incarceration as bravely as they might.
There was a faint spice of enjoyment in Chris's next remark: "Well, we are all together, that's one thing, and we've got the cake for supper, if we can only find it. Will you go first, please, so that I can hold on to you. It will be nice to see the light again. What happened to the lantern? Did you drop it?"
"I fell," he said. "I thought that I heard the good Cinders in front of me, and I ran. I tripped and struck my head. It stunned me. Après cela, I lay—depuis longtemps—insensible till I awoke and heard you singing so far—so far away."
"Whistling," said Chris.
"I thought it was a bird at the dawn," he said, "flying high in the sky.
And I lay and listened."
"My dear chevalier, you wanted shaking," she interposed, with pardonable severity. "Are you sure you are awake now? Oh, look! There is a ray of light! How heavenly! But why didn't you relight the lantern?"
"It was broken," he said, "and useless. Also I found that I had only three matches."
"I hope it will be a lesson to you," she rejoined, breathing a sigh of relief as they emerged into the dim twilight of the cave. "Oh, isn't it nice to see again! I feel as if I have been blindfolded for years."
"Poor little one!" he said. "Can you ever pardon me?"