“Did he escape?” cried Dorothy from the steps.
“He gave us the slip, confound him, Dorothy.”
“I'm glad, really I am. What could we have done with him if he had been caught? But are you not coming in?”
“Oh, not to-night, thank you. Can't you have some one bring out my hat and coat?” He was beginning to feel faint and sick, and purposely kept the bloody arm from the light.
“You shall not have them unless you come in for them. Besides, we want you to tell us what happened. We are crazy with excitement. Madame de Cartier fainted, and mamma is almost worried to death.”
“Are you not coming up, Mr. Quentin?” called Mrs. Garrison, from the veranda.
“You must come in,” said de Cartier, coming up at that moment with the count and Mr. Knowlton.
“Really, I must go to the hotel, I am a little faint after that wretched run. Let me go, please; don't insist on my coming in,” he said.
“Mon dieu!” exclaimed the count. “It is blood, Monsieur! You are hurt!”
“Oh, not in the least—merely a—”