with his naked hands, rending it, and gripping afresh. Something white
which neither noticed fluttered upon the ground between them. It must
have actually passed through that frantic grip. It lay unheeded, while
Bertrand beat out the last spark and ripped the last charred rag away
from the soft arm.

"You are hurt, no?" he queried rather breathlessly.

"You, Bertie! What of you?" she cried hysterically, clinging to him.
"Your hands--let me see them!"

"By Jove, that was a near thing!" ejaculated Noel, who had followed close
upon Bertrand's heels. "I thought you were done for that time, Chris. How
on earth did you manage it? You must have been jolly careless."

Chris did not attempt to answer. Now that the emergency had passed, she
was hanging upon Bertrand almost in a state of collapse.

"Let us go in," the latter said gently.

"Yes, run along," said Noel, who had a wholesome dread of hysterics.
"Don't be silly, Chris; there's no harm done. But if it hadn't been for
this chap here you'd have been in flames in another second. I
congratulate you, Bertrand, on your presence of mind. Not hurt yourself,
I suppose?"

"I am not hurt," the Frenchman answered; but his words sounded as if
speech were an effort to him, almost as if he spoke them through clenched
teeth.

Chris straightened herself swiftly. "Yes, let us go in," she said.

She leaned upon Bertrand no longer, but she still held his arm. As they
entered the drawing-room alone together, she turned and looked at him.

"Ah! I knew you were hurt," she said quickly. "Sit down, Bertie. Here is
a chair."

He sank down blindly, his face like death; he had begun to gasp for
breath. His hand groped desperately towards an inner pocket, but fell
powerless before reaching it.

"Let me!" whispered Chris.

She bent over him, and slipped her own trembling hand inside his coat.
Her fingers touched something hard, and she drew out a small bottle.

"Is it this?" she said.

His lips moved in the affirmative. She removed the stopper and shook out
some capsules.

"_Deux_!" whispered Bertrand.

She put them into his mouth and waited. Great drops had started on his
forehead, and now began to roll slowly down his drawn face. She took his
handkerchief after a little to wipe them away, but almost immediately he
reached up with a quivering smile and took it from her.

"I am better," he said, and though his voice was husky he had it under
control. "You will pardon me for g