“Who is that?” she whispered hoarsely, pointing to the bed. There was such urgency in her tone and gesture that I replied.
“That is a new patient.”
“A new patient? Here?”
“Certainly. Why not?”
She looked at me; her eyes were green and shone.
“When did he come?”
“Late this afternoon. Why? What is the matter? Tell me what happened!”
She groped for the cloak, pulled it absently around her and rose to her feet in one long, sinuous motion.
“He frightened me,” she said. “I thought—— I saw him lying there on the bed—— I didn’t know you had a patient here. I thought it was—I thought——” With a visible effort she controlled herself, passed a hand across her pallid face. She looked terrible—grim, hag-ridden; her lips were blue, her face ashen and her eyes like a frantic cat’s.
And at the moment we heard hurrying footsteps in the corridor and Dr. Hajek, clutching a bathrobe around his pajamas, followed by Dr. Balman, burst into the room. Dr. Hajek had a revolver in one hand, and at sight of us he paused abruptly, his eyes met Corole’s for a long moment, and I experienced the strangest feeling that they were corresponding, without words or motions, there in front of my eyes. It was the briefest of impressions, gone before the thought had more than come to me, and I saw Dr. Hajek slowly dropping the revolver into his bathrobe pocket.