“You are better?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “And you—brought me here?”
He nodded and knelt to rebuild the fire. When it was crackling again he straightened up.
“I was afraid you were going to be ill. You had a bad shock.”
Solange shuddered. “It is true. That evil old man! He hurt my head. But I am all right again.”
“You had better lie quiet for a day or two, just the same. You have had a bad blow. If you feel well enough, though, there is something I must do. Will you be all right if I leave you for a few hours?”
Her face darkened a little but she nodded. “If you must. You have been very kind, monsieur. You brought me here?”
Her eyes fell on her leather coat flung over the end of the bunk and she flushed, looking sideways at 248 the man. He seemed impassive, unconscious, and her puzzled gaze wandered over his face and form. She noted striking differences in the tanned, lean face and the lithe body. The skin was clear and the eyes no longer red and swollen. He stood upright and moved with a swift, deft certainty far from his former slouch.
“You are changed,” she commented.
“Some,” he answered. “Fresh air and exercise have benefited me.”