He thought of Captain Stewart, and he wondered if that gentleman was by any chance here in the house, or if he was still in bed in the rue du Faubourg St. Honoré, recovering from his epileptic fit.
After that he fell once more to cursing himself and his incredible stupidity, and he could have wept for sheer bitterness of chagrin.
He was still engaged in this unpleasant occupation when the door of the room opened and the Irishman O'Hara entered, having finished his interview with Captain Stewart below. He came up beside the bed and looked down not unkindly upon the man who lay there, but Ste. Marie scowled back at him, for he was in a good deal of pain and a vile humor.
"How's the leg--and the head?" asked the amateur surgeon. To do him justice, he was very skilful, indeed, through much experience.
"They hurt," said Ste. Marie, shortly. "My head aches like the devil, and my leg burns."
O'Hara made a sound which was rather like a gruff laugh, and nodded.
"Yes, and they'll go on doing it, too," said he. "At least the leg will. Your head will be all right again in a day or so. Do you want anything to eat? It's near dinner-time. I suppose we can't let you starve--though you deserve it."
"Thanks; I want nothing," said Ste. Marie. "Pray don't trouble about me."
The other man nodded again indifferently and turned to go out of the room, but in the doorway he halted and looked back.
"As we're to have the pleasure of your company for some time to come," said he, "you might suggest a name to call you by. Of course I don't expect you to tell your own name--though I can learn that easily enough."