“No, I am not hurt. But you––your head––”
“Only a bruise.” He drew his sleeve across his forehead. “I had rather a bad one in the arm.” 231
He rolled up his sleeve in a matter-of-fact way. Her eyes filled.
“Oh, M’sieu, you did not tell me. I can help you. Wait, I will be back.”
She rose, and started toward the spring, but he sprang to her side.
“You must not trouble. It is not bad. There will be time for this.”
“No. Come with me if you will.”
She ran with nervous steps; and he strode after. At the side of the bubbling pool she knelt, and looked up impatiently.
“It will not do to let this go, M’sieu. Can you roll your sleeve higher?”
He tried, but the heavy cloth was stiff.