here seemed to burst in upon her, in upon the
contrasting utter darkness, a blinding light that dazzled her so that
she could see nothing; and to burst in upon her a horrible riot of
noise--heavy, panting gasps for breath, the quick shuffle of feet upon
the floor, the grating, the ring, the metallic grinding of rapier
blades.

In terror, she pushed the door open another inch--and held it rigidly,
as, suddenly, her heart seemed to stop its beat. There came a gurgling
moan--then--then an instant's deathlike silence--and then, with a wild
cry, she flung the door wide open, and, as it crashed back against the
wall, she stumbled out into the _atelier_.

She could see now, but it was as though it were not herself at all who
looked around the room, for her brain seemed suddenly to be acting in
an impersonal, numbed, apathetic way. She could see everything very
clearly, but it was as though some one else, not she, were seeing it.
She stretched out her arms before her like one who was blind to feel
her way, and started across the _atelier_. She should have run, she
should have run so fast, so fast, something within her told her she
should run, but her limbs seemed scarcely able to support her
weight--she could only stumble across the _atelier_ with her arms
stretched out. That was not Jean who stood in the centre of the room
holding a rapier in his hand, it was Paul Valmain. And the man who
stood beside Paul Valmain was not Jean. And there were two other men,
but neither of them was Jean. But they held a silent, grey-faced,
unconscious form in their arms that they were lowering to the
floor--and that was Jean. And they looked at her as she came, looked
at her in so strange and startled a way; and Paul Valmain took a step
toward her, and cried out, and drew suddenly back--and then--and then
she was on her knees, and Jean's head was gathered into her arms, and
he was so white, so terribly white, and he made no sound--and--and--

"Jean! Jean!"--she was crying his name passionately, piteously, crying
it over and over again. "Jean! Jean!"

And he made no answer--only lay there white and still. And then some
one took her arm and tried to draw her away--and some one spoke to her.

"Mademoiselle must permit me," the voice said gravely. "I am the
doctor."

They took Jean from her, and the man who had said he was the doctor
bent over Jean--and, still on her knees, she watched them. Why should
they take him from her--n