"That I—am—the Bumpkin!" said I.
Now, as I spoke, a black mist enveloped all things, my knees loosened suddenly, and stumbling forward, I sank into a chair. "I am—very—tired!" I sighed, and so, as it seemed, fell asleep.
CHAPTER IV
WHICH, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, HAS TO DO WITH BRUISES AND BANDAGES
She was on her knees beside me, bathing my battered face, talking all the while in a soft voice that I thought wonderfully sweet to hear.
"Poor boy!" she was saying, over and over again, "poor boy!" And after she had said it, perhaps a dozen times, I opened my eyes and looked at her.
"Madam, I am twenty-five!" said I. Hereupon, sponge in hand, she drew back and looked at me.
A wonderful face—low-browed, deep-eyed, full-lipped. The eyes were dark and swiftly changeful, and there was a subtle witchery in the slanting shadow of their lashes.
"Twenty-five!" she repeated, "can it really be?"
"Why not, madam?"