"Doctor," I said lightly as I came in, "my horse shied at his own shadow and came down in the road. I think my left arm is put out. Will you see?"
"Eh, what?—put out?" said M. Desmarets, after he had removed the handkerchief. "Your arm's broken, my poor boy."
Mme. Laroque started up with a little scream and came towards me.
"It seems we are to have an evening of misfortunes," she said.
"What else has happened?" I asked, as if surprised.
"I am afraid my daughter must have had an accident. She went out on horseback about three; it is now eight, and she has not returned!"
"Mlle. Marguerite? Why, I met her..."
"Met her? When? Where? Forgive a mother's selfishness, M. Odiot."
"Oh, I met her on the road, about five. She told me she thought of going as far as the tower of Elven."
"The tower of Elven! She has lost her way in the woods. We must send at once and search."