“Ah, monsieur, will you be so kind as to help me? I fear I have sprained my ankle.”
Paul Roget leapt the wall and ran to her assistance. (The thought of leaping a wall now made him gasp!) He lifted her up, trembling himself, and making sympathetic little clucks with his tongue.
“Pardon, pardon! very distressing!” he murmured, when she stood erect.
“If monsieur will be good enough to allow me to rest my hand on his shoulder, I shall be able to hop back to the auberge.”
“With the greatest pleasure. Allow me.”
On the ground was an upturned pail. He remarked:
“Would it distress mademoiselle to stand for one minute, whilst I re-fill the pail?”
“Oh, no, no,” she exclaimed. “Do not inconvenience yourself.”
“Then perhaps mademoiselle will allow me to return for the pail?”