“It was an accident, Monsieur,” said a man of the working-class, standing by, “this poor gentleman must have had some kind of fit, I think.  I was crossing the Boulevards with him about ten o’clock; there were a good many carriages about, but we were going quietly enough, when suddenly I saw him stop, put his hand to his head, and fall down in the road.  I had to run just then to get safely across myself, and when I reached the other side, I saw a great confusion, and heard that a carriage had driven straight over him.”

There was a moment’s pause, and Madelon said in a tremulous whisper, “Papa used to have vertiges last winter, but he got quite well again.”

“To be sure,” said Graham; “and so we must hope he will now.  That was more than two hours ago,” he said, turning to the man—­“what have you been doing ever since?”

“We carried him into the nearest cafe, Monsieur, and some proposed taking him to a hospital, but after a time we found a letter in his pocket addressed to this hotel, and we thought it best to bring him here, as he might have friends; so we got a fiacre.  But it was a long way off, and we were obliged to come very slowly.”

“A hospital would perhaps have been the better plan,” said Graham; “or you should have found a doctor before moving him.  However, now he must be carried upstairs without further delay.  My poor child,” he said, turning to Madelon, “you can do no good here—­you had better go with Madame, who will take care of you; will you not, Madame?” he added, turning to the landlady, who, roused from her bed, had just appeared, after a hasty toilette.

“Yes, yes, she can come with me,” said Madame Lavaux, who was not in the best of tempers at the disturbance; “but I beg of you not to make more noise than you can help, Messieurs, or I shall have the whole house disturbed, and half the people leaving to-morrow.”

The sad little procession moved quietly enough up the stairs, and along the corridor to M. Linders’ room.  Graham had gone on in front, but Madame Lavaux had held back Madelon when she would have pressed forward by the side of the men who were carrying her father, and she had yielded at first in sheer bewilderment.  She had passed through more than one phase of emotion in the course of the last ten minutes, poor child!  The first overwhelming shock and terror had passed away, when Graham’s reassuring voice and manner had convinced her that her father was not dead; but she had still felt too stunned and confused to do more than obey passively, as she watched him carefully raised, and slowly carried from the hall.  By the time they reached the top of the staircase, however, her natural energy began to reassert itself; and, as she saw him disappear within the bedroom, her impatient eagerness to be at his side again, could not be restrained.  His recent illness was still too fresh a memory for the mere sight of his present suffering and insensibility to have any of the terrors of novelty, after the first shock was over, and all her former experiences went to prove that his first words on recovering consciousness would be to ask for her.  Her one idea was that she must go at once and nurse him; she had not heeded, nor, perhaps, even heard Graham’s last words, and she was about to follow the men into the bedroom, when Madame Lavaux interposed to prevent her.