"Yes," she said, with a sigh of relief. "I'm very glad of that. Must you pull it any tighter? I—I can bear it, of course, but I'd much rather you didn't if—if you don't mind."
She spoke gaspingly. Her eyes were full of tears, though she kept them resolutely from falling.
"Poor little one!" he said. "But you are very brave. Once more—so—and we will not do it again. The pain is not so bad now, no?"
He looked up at her with a smile so kindly that Chris nearly broke down altogether. She made a desperate grab after her self-control, and by dint of biting her lower lip very hard just saved herself from this calamity.
It was a very pleasing face that looked into her own, olive-hued, with brows as delicate as a woman's. A thin line of black moustache outlined a mouth that was something over-sensitive. He was certainly quite a captivating fairy prince.
Chris shook the thick hair back upon her shoulders and surveyed him with interest. "It's getting better," she said. "It was a horrid cut, wasn't it? You don't know how it hurt."
"But I can imagine it," he declared. "I saw immediately that it was serious. Mademoiselle cannot attempt to walk."
"Oh, but I must indeed!" protested Chris in dismay. "I shall be drowned if I stay here."
He shook his head. "Ah no, no! You shall not stay here. If you will accept my assistance, all will be well."
"But you can't—carry me!" gasped Chris.