With a nervous start she rose and came closer to him. “How are you now?” she asked in as matter-of-fact a tone as she could summon to her assistance. “I am all right, I believe, except that I feel lame all over,” he replied, smiling in that peculiarly winning fashion she had always liked. “We were wrecked--” he continued, puckering his brows in puzzlement. “When you moved, madame, I was just trying to piece the last few hours together.” “Yes,” she encouraged, “but don’t do it too fast. You have gone through a great deal, Mr. Wynne, and rest is what you need most. Are you thirsty?” “I am, thank you,” he said, still quite evenly; and as she took from the table a long glass with something cool in it, he made a motion to raise himself on his elbow, desisted, and glanced inquiringly at her. “Are my legs broken?” he queried. She deftly passed her left arm under his head and put the glass to his lips. “No,” she said, her face hidden from him as she bent, “you broke no bones, marvelous to relate.” “That was lucky!” he admitted, but now there was not only surprise, but an odd wistfulness in his voice. “Still, I cannot move my legs at all. It’s curious!” “Not in the least; you were properly battered by the waves, my poor child, let me tell you.” “I dare say. I remember something about that. But tell me, Madame de Salvières, how do I come here under your roof?” He hesitated, bit his under lip, and fell silent, battling bravely with his hazy thoughts. Tatiana, who wished herself a million miles away, replaced the half-empty glass upon the tray, and, stepping across to the nearest window, busied herself with a blind apparently recalcitrant--a strange happening in a dwelling where everything went always as neatly as clockwork. Behind the stiff brocaded curtains falling straight on each side of his couch Preston was vainly trying to pull himself together. How was he here? What had become of Laurence after she had been torn from his arms in that hell of waters? Why was it the Duchess de Salvières--Prince Palitzin’s sister--who nursed him, and, in the name of all wonders, why were her eyes so kind and sympathetic? Assuredly he deserved no such treatment from her. “Madame de Salvières,” he said at length, “would you very much mind coming here, since I cannot stir yet, and telling me something?” Instantly Tatiana was at his side, her hand lightly touching his. “I feel awfully foolish,” he explained, “as foolish as a man well can feel--and, to be truthful, I don’t know where to begin, but I’d like to know what--what has happened to--to me, for instance?” His fine eyes were searching hers imploringly, and, drawing a chair toward her with her foot, she sat down close to him without releasing her hold upon his cold fingers. “You were a passenger on the _Wild Rose_,” she began. “You remember that?” “Yes.” “The yacht was caught in a storm and foundered a few cable-lengths from our rocks.” “Yes, I remember that, too; and then....”