‘It is nothing,’ he said. ‘Only a drunken woman, as you see.’ The policeman approached the girl and touched her on the shoulder. ‘Come now, just you move on, or I’ll have to run you in,’ he said; and as she spoke rapidly in her own language, he shook his sagacious head and continued, ‘We don’t want none of your parleyvoo. Leave the gentleman alone, d’ye hear, and move on.’ ‘The woman is not drunk,’ said Sutherland. ‘She is ill, and--look, she has fainted!’ Overmastered by her excitement, she had indeed fallen into a sort of faint or fit. Sutherland supported her gently, while the crowd, with cries and murmurs, pressed close! round them. In the commotion which ensued Gavrolles slipped away, stepped into a hansom, and was driven off. ‘Keep back--give her air!’ cried Sutherland. ‘Does any one know where she lives?’ At this moment the woman whom he had first seen in her company stepped forward. ‘Yes, monsieur, we lodge together. Look up, Adèle! What ails you?’ ‘Help me to take her home,’ said Sutherland, in a low voice. The policeman called a cab, and Sutherland raised the girl in his arms and placed her in it; then he stepped in himself, followed by the other woman. They drove to a wretched lodging-house in Gerrard Street, Soho, a dismal fetid den, presided over by a hideous old Frenchwoman, who at first refused to take her in. ‘You’d better drive her to the hospital,’ said this person, blocking the doorway. ‘She owes me two weeks’ rent already, and I can’t take care of her.’ The sight of Sutherland’s purse, however, worked wonders; and with many protestations of sympathy the hag suffered the girl to be carried to a room upstairs. The fainting fit had by this time passed away, to be followed by an attack of hysterical weeping and coughing. Sutherland shuddered, for as she coughed, and spat he saw on her lips a thin tinge of crimson blood. He had her well cared for that night, and the next day he called with a physician, and found her in bed, wild and ghastly, as if she had not got long to live. ‘Ah! monsieur, forgive me!’ she cried, with a sad smile, reaching out her wasted hand. ‘I was _méchante_ last night, but to see that man made me mad. I think I should have killed him had I been able. I was good and _gentille_ when he first knew me, and he coaxed me away from my friends and took me to that evil place where you found me. But for him I might have been a good woman--you comprehend.’ ‘Do not speak of it now. This gentleman is a doctor, I have brought him to see you.’ ‘All, monsieur, how good you are!’ sobbed the girl, with a look of ineffable gratitude; and she raised his hand to her feverish lips and kissed it. *****