Abruptly she turned away shivering, and put up her hands over her face. And she gave an exclamation of uncontrollable repulsion.
"Ugh!" she cried, "it's horrible. Horrible! I can't bear to look. I saw him in a fit once before—long ago—and I couldn't bear even to speak to him for a month. I thought he had been cured. He said—— Ah, it's horrible!"
Ste. Marie had dropped upon his knees beside the fallen man, and Mlle. Nilssen said over her shoulder—
"Hold his head up from the floor, if you can bear to. He might hurt it." It was not an easy thing to do, for Ste. Marie had the natural sense of repulsion in such matters that most people have, and this man's appearance, as Olga Nilssen had said, was horrible. The face was drawn hideously, and, in the strong clear light of the electrics, it was a deathly yellow. The eyes were half closed, and the eyeballs turned up so that only the whites of them showed between the lids. There was froth upon the distorted mouth, and it clung to the cat-like moustache and to the shallow sunken chin beneath. But Ste. Marie exerted all his will power, and took the jerking trembling head in his hands, holding it clear of the floor.
"You'd better call the servant," he said. "There may be something that can be done." But the woman answered, without looking—
"No, there's nothing that can be done, I believe, except to keep him from bruising himself. Stimulants—that sort of thing, do more harm than good. Could you get him on the bed here?"
"Together we might manage it," said Ste. Marie. "Come and help!"
"I can't!" she cried nervously. "I can't—touch him. Please, I can't do it."
"Come!" said the man in a sharp tone. "It's no time for nerves. I don't like it either, but it's got to be done." The woman began a half-hysterical sobbing, but after a moment she turned and came with slow feet to where Stewart lay.
Ste. Marie slipped his arms under the man's body and began to raise him from the floor.