Sir Cyril pushed ahead, without saying a word, without even remonstrating when his minions omitted to make way for him.  Right at the back of the stage, and almost in the centre, the crowd was much thicker.  And at last, having penetrated it, we came upon a sight which I am not likely to forget.  Rosa, in all the splendor of the bridal costume, had passed her arms under Alresca’s armpits, and so raised his head and shoulders against her breast.  She was gazing into the face of the spangled knight, and the tears were falling from her eyes into his.

“My poor Alresca!  My poor Alresca!” she kept murmuring.

Pressing on these two were a distinguished group consisting of the King, the Herald, Ortrud, Telramund, and several more.  And Ortrud was cautiously feeling Alresca’s limbs with her jewel-laden fingers.  I saw instantly that Alresca was unconscious.

“Please put him down, mademoiselle.”

These were the first words that I ever spoke to Rosetta Rosa, and, out of sheer acute nervousness, I uttered them roughly, in a tone of surly command.  I was astonished at myself.  I was astonished at my own voice.  She glanced up at me and hesitated.  No doubt she was unaccustomed to such curt orders.

“Please put him down at once,” I repeated, trying to assume a bland, calm, professional, authoritative manner, and not in the least succeeding.  “It is highly dangerous to lift an unconscious person from a recumbent position.”

Why I should have talked like an article in a medical dictionary instead of like a human being I cannot imagine.

“This is a doctor—­Mr. Carl Foster,” Sir Cyril explained smoothly, and she laid Alresca’s head gently on the bare planks of the floor.

“Will everyone kindly stand aside, and I will examine him.”

No one moved.  The King continued his kingly examination of the prone form.  Not a fold of Ortrud’s magnificent black robe was disturbed.  Then Sir Cyril translated my request into French and into German, and these legendary figures of the Middle Ages withdrew a little, fixing themselves with difficulty into the common multitude that pressed on them from without.  I made them retreat still further.  Rosetta Rosa moved gravely to one side.

Almost immediately Alresca opened his eyes, and murmured faintly, “My thigh.”

I knelt down, but not before Rosa had sprung forward at the sound of his voice, and kneeling close by my side had clasped his hand.  I tried to order her away, but my tongue could not form the words.  I could only look at her mutely, and there must have been an effective appeal in my eyes, for she got up, nodding an acquiescence, and stood silent and tense a yard from Alresca’s feet.  With a violent effort I nerved myself to perform my work.  The voice of Nolan, speaking to the audience, and then a few sympathetic cheers, came vaguely from the other side of the big curtain, and then the orchestra began to play the National Anthem.