"Oh, child! child!" he cried. And he said: "I remember more. It was you who held Stewart and kept him from shooting me. I heard the shot and I heard you scream. The last thought I had was that you had been killed in saving me. That's what I went out into the blank thinking."
He covered his eyes again as if the memory were intolerable. But after awhile he said:
"You saved my life, you know."
And the girl answered him:
"I had nearly taken it once before. It was I who called Michel that day you came over the wall, the day you were shot. I nearly murdered you once. I owed you something. Perhaps we're even now."
She saw that he did not at all remember that hour in the little room--her hour of bitterness--and she was glad. She had felt sure that it would be so. For the present she did not greatly suffer, she had come to a state beyond active suffering--a chill state of dulled sensibilities.
The old Justine knocked at the door to ask if Monsieur was going into the city soon or if she should give the chauffeur his déjeuner and tell him to wait.
"Are you fit to go?" Coira asked.
And he said, "I suppose as fit as I shall be."
He got to his feet, and the things about him swam dangerously, but he could walk by using great care. The girl stood white and still, and she avoided his eyes.