O’Hara returned to the bed and made a silent examination of the bullet wound, which, it was plain to see, was doing very well indeed.  “You’ll be all right in a few days,” said he, “but you’ll be lame for a week yet—­maybe two.  As a matter of fact, I’ve known men to march half a day with a hole in the leg worse than yours, though it probably was not quite pleasant.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t march very far,” said Ste. Marie, “but I can hobble a bit.  The point is, I’m going mad from confinement in this room.  Do you think I might be allowed to stagger about the garden for an hour, or sit there under one of the trees?  I don’t like to ask favors, but, so far as I can see, it could do no harm.  I couldn’t possibly escape, you see.  I couldn’t climb a fifteen-foot wall even if I had two good legs; as it is, with a leg and a half, I couldn’t climb anything.”

The Irishman looked at him sharply, and was silent for a time, as if considering.  But at last he said:  “Of course there is no reason whatever for granting you any favors here.  You’re on the footing of a spy—­a captured spy—­and you’re very lucky not to have got what you deserved instead of a trumpery flesh wound.”  The man’s face twisted into a heavy scowl.  “Unfortunately,” said he, “an accident has put me—­put us in as unpleasant a position toward you as you had put yourself toward us.  We seem to stand in the position of having tried to poison you, and—­well, we owe you something for that.  Still, I’d meant to keep you locked up in this room so long as it was necessary to have you at La Lierre.”  He scowled once more in an intimidating fashion at Ste. Marie, and it was evident that he found himself embarrassed.  “And,” he said, awkwardly, “I suppose I owe something to your father’s son....  Look here!  If you’re to be allowed in the garden, you must understand that it’s at fixed hours and not alone.  Somebody will always be with you, and old Michel will be on hand to shoot you down if you try to run for it or if you try to communicate with Arthur Benham.  Is that understood?”

“Quite,” said Ste. Marie, gayly.  “Quite understood and agreed to.  And many thanks for your courtesy.  I sha’n’t forget it.  We differ rather widely on some rather important subjects, you and I, but I must confess that you’re very generous, and I thank you.  The old Michel has my full permission to shoot at me if he sees me trying to fly over a fifteen-foot wall.”

“He’ll shoot without asking your permission,” said the Irishman, grimly, “if you try that on, but I don’t think you’ll be apt to try it for the present—­not with a crippled leg.”  He pulled out his watch and looked at it.  “Nine o’clock,” said he.  “If you care to begin to-day you can go out at eleven for an hour.  I’ll see that old Michel is ready at that time.”