“Braith,” he said again. “I thought I heard him say ‘Rex.’” But he kept on to the next floor and stopped before the door of the room which was directly under his own. He paused, hesitated, looking up at a ray of light which came out from a crack in the transom. “It’s too late,” he muttered, and turned away irresolutely. A clear voice called from within, “Entrez donc, Monsieur.” He opened the door and went in. On a piano stood a shaded lamp, which threw a soft yellow light over everything. The first glance gave him a hasty impression of a white lace-covered bed and a dainty toilet table on which stood a pair of tall silver candlesticks; and then, as the soft voice spoke again, “Will Monsieur be seated?” he turned and confronted the girl whom he had helped in the Place de la Concorde. She lay in a cloud of fleecy wrappings on a lounge that was covered with a great white bearskin. Her blue eyes met Gethryn’s, and he smiled faintly. She spoke again: “Will Monsieur sit a little nearer? It is difficult to speak loudly—I have so little strength.” Gethryn walked over to the sofa and half unconsciously sank down on the rug which fell on the floor by the invalid’s side. He spoke as he would to a sick child. “I am so very glad you are better. I inquired of the concierge and she told me.” A slight color crept into the girl’s face. “You are so good. Ah! what should I have done—what can I say?” She stopped; there were tears in her eyes. “Please say nothing—please forget it.” “Forget!” Presently she continued, almost in a whisper, “I had so much to say to you, and now you are really here, I can think of nothing, only that you saved me.” “Mademoiselle—I beg!” She lay silent a moment more; then she raised herself from the sofa and held out her hand. His hand and eyes met hers. “I thank you,” she said, “I can never forget.” Then she sank back among the white fluff of lace and fur. “I only learned this morning,” she went on, after a minute, “ _who_ sat beside me all that night and bathed my arm, and gave me cooling drinks.” Gethryn colored. “There was no one else to take care of you. I sent for my friend, Doctor Ducrot, but he was out of town. Then Dr Bouvier promised to come, and didn’t. The concierge was ill herself—I could not leave you alone. You know, you were a little out of your head with fright and fever. I really couldn’t leave you to get on by yourself.” “No,” cried the girl, excitedly, “you could not leave me after carrying me out of that terrible crowd; yourself hurt, exhausted, you sat by my side all night long.” Gethryn laid his hand on her. “Hélène,” he said, half jesting, “I did what anyone else would have done under the circumstances—and forgotten.” She looked at him shyly. “Don’t forget,” she said. “I couldn’t forget your face,” he rashly answered, moved by the emotion she showed. She brightened. “Did you know me when you first saw me in the crowd?” She expected him to say “Yes.”