Alas, not a word was comprehensible to Dick; nor could he think of a word to say in reply.  He made an uncouth, half-irritated, half-despairing gesture towards the wood he had quitted, as if to indicate his helpless horse, but he knew it was meaningless to the frightened yet exalted girl before him.  Her little hand crept to her breast and clutched a rosary within the folds of her dress, as her soft voice again arose, low but appealingly: 

“Vous souffrez!  Ah, mon Dieu!  Peuton vous secourir?  Moi-meme—­mes prieres pourraient elles interceder pour vous?  Je supplierai le ciel de prendre en pitie l’ame de mon ancetre.  Monsieur le Cure est la,—­je lui parlerai.  Lui et ma mere vous viendront en aide.”

She clasped her hands appealingly before him.

Dick stood bewildered, hopeless, mystified; he had not understood a word; he could not say a word.  For an instant he had a wild idea of seizing her hand and leading her to his helpless horse, and then came what he believed was his salvation,—­a sudden flash of recollection that he had seen the word he wanted, the one word that would explain all, in a placarded notice at the Cirque of a bracelet that had been lost,—­yes, the single word “Perdu.”  He made a step towards her, and in a voice almost as faint as her own, stammered, “Perdu!”

With a little cry, that was more like a sigh than an outcry, the girl’s arms fell to her side; she took a step backwards, reeled, and fainted away.

Dick caught her as she fell.  What had he said!—­but, more than all, what should he do now?  He could not leave her alone and helpless,—­yet how could he justify another disconcerting intrusion?  He touched her hands; they were cold and lifeless; her eyes were half closed; her face as pale and drooping as her lily.  Well, he must brave the worst now, and carry her to the house, even at the risk of meeting the others and terrifying them as he had her.  He caught her up,—­he scarcely felt her weight against his breast and shoulder,—­and ran hurriedly down the slope to the terrace, which was still deserted.  If he had time to place her on some bench beside the window within their reach, he might still fly undiscovered!  But as he panted up the steps of the terrace with his burden, he saw that the French window was still open, but the light seemed to have been extinguished.  It would be safer for her if he could place her inside the house,—­if he but dared to enter.  He was desperate, and he dared!

He found himself alone, in a long salon of rich but faded white and gold hangings, lit at the further end by two tall candles on either side of the high marble mantel, whose rays, however, scarcely reached the window where he had entered.  He laid his burden on a high-backed sofa.  In so doing, the rose fell from her belt.  He picked it up, put it in his breast, and turned to go.  But he was arrested by a voice from the terrace:—­