He was somewhat sobered. I said nothing, but I observed that the lamp was smoking, and I turned down the wick. I was so self-conscious, so irresolute, so nonplussed, that in sheer awkwardness, like a girl at a party who does not know what to do with her hands, I pushed the revolver off the satchel, and idly unfastened the catch of the satchel. Within it, among other things, was my sedative. I, too, had fallen the victim of a habit. For five years a bad sleeper, I had latterly developed into a very bad sleeper, and my sedative was accordingly strong. A notion struck me. 'Drink a little of this, my poor Diaz!' I murmured. 'What is it?' he asked. 'It will make you sleep,' I said. With a convulsive movement he clutched the bottle and uncorked it, and before I could interfere he had drunk nearly the whole of its contents. 'Stop!' I cried. 'You will kill yourself!' 'What matter!' he exclaimed; and staggered off to the darkness of the bedroom. I followed him with the lamp, but he had already fallen on the bed, and seemed to be heavily asleep. I shook him; he made no response. 'At any cost he must he roused,' I said aloud. 'He must be forced to walk.' There was a knocking at the outer door, low, discreet, and continuous. It sounded to me like a deliverance. Whoever might be there must aid me to waken Diaz. I ran to the door, taking the key out of my pocket, and opened it. A tall woman stood on the doormat. It was the girl that I had glimpsed on the previous night in the large hat ascending the stairs with a man. But now her bright golden head was uncovered, and she wore a blue _peignoir_, such as is sold ready made, with its lace and its ribbons, at all the big Paris shops. We both hesitated. 'Oh, pardon, madame,' she said, in a thin, sweet voice in French. 'I was at my door, and it seemed to me that I heard--a revolver. Nothing serious has passed, then? Pardon, madame.' 'Nothing, thank you. You are very amiable, madame,' I replied stiffly. 'All my excuses, madame,' said she, turning away. 'No, no!' I exclaimed. 'I am wrong. Do not go. Someone is ill--very ill. If you would--' She entered. 'Where? What is it?' she inquired. 'He is in the bedroom--here.' We both spoke breathlessly, hurrying to the bedroom, after I had fetched the lamp. 'Wounded? He has done himself harm? Ah!' 'No,' I said, 'not that.' And I explained to her that Diaz had taken at least six doses of my strong solution of trional. I seized the lamp and held it aloft over the form of the sleeper, which lay on its side cross-wise, the feet projecting a little over the edge of the bed, the head bent forward and missing the pillow, the arms stretched out in front--the very figure of abandoned and perfect unconsciousness. And the girl and I stared at Diaz, our shoulders touching, in the kennel. 'He must be made to walk about,' I said. 'You would be extremely kind to help me.'