"Ah! It is Panna Pauly."
"It is I," answered the girl. "I beg your pardon for making so much noise."
She blushed like a rose under his glance, and he recollected how he once saw her attired only in azure watery pearls; so he gazed at her with greater curiosity and said:
"That does not matter. I thank you, little Miss, for your solicitude."
At the same time, as a sign of gratitude, he moved the hand lying on the bed-quilt but feeling simultaneously a piercing pain, he made a wry face and hissed.
And she sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over him, and asked with intense anxiety:
"Does it pain?"
"It does."
"Can I hand you anything? Shall I call any one?"
"No, no."