The man's hand knocked up the switch. Flooded the room with light. Even as he did so he was whirling. Springing back to Elaine's side. And barely in time, for her backbone seemed to have turned to water. Her limp body was slipping to the floor in a nerveless heap, her muscles slack and unresponding. By a miracle of balance, Mark's hands caught her in time to break the force of her fall. He lifted her, unresisting, in his arms. Her ashen lips still were moving in the faintest of whispers-- "_... je t'aime, mon cher, je t'aime...._" Her voice trailed off. A great sigh shook her. She lay unconscious in his arms. Mark's brain was spinning like a top within his skull. He was breathing hard, and he was trembling, as if he had just run a long way. "... I love you, my dear, I love you...." That was what she had said. _But why had she spoken in French?_ Even as he hesitated in an agony of indecision, the door burst open. The frail, white-haired figure of Professor Duchard, Elaine's father, stumbled into the room. His eyes were sleep-fogged, and spindly, pajama-clad legs showed below the dressing gown he had thrown about his thin shoulders. "What is it? What has happened?" he mumbled. Even in his dazed state, he pronounced every syllable. There were no slurrings nor contractions in Professor Duchard's punctilious vocabulary. "Elaine's fainted." "Then carry her to her room. I shall get smelling salts from the medicine cabinet." Turning, the professor scurried away. Mark followed, Elaine's soft body still limp and yielding in his arms. Ascending the stairs to her room, he laid her tenderly on the bed. Even as he did so, the girl's father hurried to his side, a dark green bottle in his hand. The old man was more fully awake now, and he looked down at his daughter with keen, intelligent eyes. Although outwardly he appeared calm, there was a little flicker of worry deep within those sharp blue optics. "This should revive her!" he announced, waving the bottle. Pulling out the glass stopper, he held the container close under the girl's nose. Elaine drew a little breath. The fumes swirled into her nostrils. She choked. Jerked spasmodically. And slumped back, still unconscious! Again the professor applied the carbonate of ammonium. Again the results were the same. The old man straightened. "I do not like this," he clipped. "You had better tell me just what happened." Mark shifted nervously under the scrutiny of the sharp blue eyes. "Start at the beginning," the professor commanded. "I want to know from exactly what this 'fainting spell' resulted." * * * * * The younger man nodded slowly. "It all began after you went to bed," he explained. "I said good-night to Elaine, then decided to step outside and have a smoke before I turned in myself.