Her eye sought his with a piqued curiosity. For a moment, forgetting that here was a man who had rescued her from insult at considerable bodily risk, she saw him only as a man of curious, almost boorish brusqueness. Why this sudden cold reserve?
Then, with a reddening of cheek at her momentary lapse from gratitude, she began to thank him for his timely help.
Rivière cut her short. "There is nothing to thank me for. I didn't even know it was you. I heard a woman's cry—that was all. You ought not to go about these dark ruelles alone at night-time."
They were at the door of their hotel by now.
"Can't I dress the wound for you?" she asked. "I've had practice in first aid, Mr Rivière."
He paused suddenly in the doorway and asked her abruptly: "How do you know my name?"
"I know more than your name. When your cut has been dressed, I'll explain in full."
"Thank you, but I can manage quite well myself. Let us meet again in the salon in, say, half an hour's time."
They parted in the corridor and went to their respective rooms.
When they met again, he had his head bound up with swathes of linen. His face was white with the loss of blood, and she gave a little cry of alarm.