"In a moment," she whispered.
"Permit me," said Pierre quietly; and slipped his arm under her pillow.
She looked up sharply to protest, but the words died on her lips. She
saw that he would not be denied.
He supported her with absolute steadiness while she drank, not uttering
a word. Finally, he lowered her again, and spoke:
"It is time that your wound was attended to. With your permission I will
proceed with it at once."
"Is it serious, monsieur?" she asked.
"I can tell you better when I have seen it," he rejoined, beginning to
loosen the bandage. "Does it pain you?" as she winced.
"A little," she acknowledged, with quivering lips.
He glanced at her, and for the first time in all her experience of him
he spoke with a hint of kindness.
"It will not take long, Mademoiselle Stephanie. Shut your eyes till it
is over."
She obeyed him mutely. Her fear of the man was merging into a curious
feeling of reliance. She was beginning to realise that her enforced
dependence upon him had in some fashion altered his attitude towards
her.
"No," he said at last. "It is not a very serious matter, though it may
give you some trouble till it is healed. You will need to keep very
quiet, mademoiselle, and"--again momentarily she saw his smile--"avoid
agitating yourself as much as possible."
"You may rely upon me to do that, monsieur," she returned with dignity;
"if I am allowed to do so.
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