“Monsieur!” broke from Vincent in an angry expostulation which ignored his comrade’s gesture to silence.
The German looked round upon him, forcing his face to a smile in which the vivid blue eyes behind the pince-nez failed to participate.
“You are certainly entitled to some explanation of this unseemly occurrence, gentlemen,” he said in French. His voice, perfectly controlled and reinforcing his smile, suggested an appreciation of piquancy in this equivocal situation, invited the sense of humour of the Gallic temperament. “I need not tell you that Fräulein Rosenhagen is entirely innocent of any intent to disturb you. She is, I may say, under my medical care. She suffers from somnambulism, and you will understand that it is comprehensible she should wander to this room where she is accustomed to receive treatment.”
Vincent, with difficulty, controlled himself to silence in obedience to his friend’s warning glance. Chassaigne stepped forward.
“Quite, monsieur,” he said, easily, smiling as though he fully appreciated the position from all points of view. “A case of abnormal subconscious activity. I am myself greatly interested, professionally, in this common neuro-pathological symptom. May I suggest that, since your patient has come here in response to an obscure instinctive desire for the accustomed treatment of which she is doubtless in need, you now satisfy her? I should esteem it a privilege to assist at a demonstration of your methods.”
The German’s eyes flashed a suspicion that was instantly veiled.
“The hour is late, monsieur,” he said, coldly.
Chassaigne shrugged his shoulders good-humouredly.
“In our profession, monsieur—the service of humanity,” he said with sly malice, “one is on duty at all hours.”
The German’s eyes expressed frank hostility.