She had an
impression--fleeting at the time but returning to her later--of friendly
dark eyes that looked for an instant into hers; and then, exactly how it
happened she knew not, she was sitting propped against the rock, while
all the world swam dizzily around her, and someone with sure, steady
hands wound a bandage tightly and ever more tightly around her wounded
foot.
"It hurts!" she murmured piteously.
"Have patience, mademoiselle! It will be better in a moment," came the
quick reply. "I shall not hurt you more than is necessary. It is to
arrest the bleeding, this. Mademoiselle will endure the pain like a brave
child, yes?"
Chris swallowed a little shudder. The dizziness was passing. She was
beginning to see more clearly, and her gaze travelled with dawning
criticism over the neat white figure that ministered so confidently to
her need.
"I knew he'd be French," she whispered half aloud.
"But I speak English, mademoiselle," he returned, without raising his
black head,
"Yes," she said, with a sigh of relief. "I'm very glad of that. Must you
pull it any tighter? I--I can bear it, of course, but I'd much rather you
didn't if--if you don't mind.
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