I smiled encouragingly and obeyed.

“My kind friend,” he murmured, “I know not your name.”

His English was not the English of an Englishman, but it was beautiful in its exotic quaintness.

“My name is Carl Foster,” I said.  “It will be better for you not to talk.”

He made another gesture of protest with that wonderful left hand of his.

“Monsieur Foster, I must talk to Mademoiselle Rosa.”

“Impossible,” I replied.  “It really is essential that you should keep quiet.”

“Kind friend, grant me this wish.  When I have seen her I shall be better.  It will do me much good.”

There was such a desire in his eyes, such a persuasive plaintiveness in his voice, that, against my judgment, I yielded.

“Very well,” I said.  “But I am afraid I can only let you see her for five minutes.”

The hand waved compliance, and I told the valet to go and inquire for Rosa.

“She is here, sir,” said the valet on opening the door.  I jumped up.  There she was, standing on the door-mat in the narrow passage!  Yet I had been out of the room twice, once to speak to Sir Cyril Smart, and once to answer an inquiry from my cousin Sullivan, and I had not seen her.

She was still in the bridal costume of Elsa, and she seemed to be waiting for permission to enter.  I went outside to her, closing the door.

“Sir Cyril would not let me come,” she said.  “But I have escaped him.  I was just wondering if I dared peep in.  How is he?”

“He is getting on splendidly,” I answered.  “And he wants to have a little chat with you.”

“And may he?”

“If you will promise to be very, very ordinary, and not to excite him.”

“I promise,” she said with earnestness.

“Remember,” I added, “quite a little, tiny chat!”

She nodded and went in, I following.  Upon catching sight of her, Alresca’s face broke into an exquisite, sad smile.  Then he gave his valet a glance, and the valet crept from the room.  I, as in professional duty bound, remained.  The most I could do was to retire as far from the couch, and pretend to busy myself with the rolling up of spare bandages.

“My poor Rosa,” I heard Alresca begin.

The girl had dropped to her knees by his side, and taken his hand.

“How did it happen, Alresca?  Tell me.”

“I cannot tell you!  I saw—­saw something, and I fell, and caught my leg against some timber, and I don’t remember any more.”

“Saw something?  What did you see?”

There was a silence.

“Were you frightened?” Rosa continued softly.

Then another silence.

“Yes,” said Alresca at length, “I was frightened.”

“What was it?”

“I say I cannot tell you.  I do not know.”

“You are keeping something from me, Alresca,” she exclaimed passionately.

I was on the point of interfering in order to bring the colloquy to an end, but I hesitated.  They appeared to have forgotten that I was there.