In a moment her face was turned our way, and she glided forwards, her features still hidden by the hood of her cloak.  She was close to us now, bending over us.  She raised her hand to her head—­to shade her eyes, as she looked more closely, I supposed, and I was wondering whether she saw us—­whether she took the shapelessness in the shadow of the curtain for her sister, or could not make it out—­I was thinking how we could best apprise her of our presence without alarming her—­when Croisette dashed my thoughts to the winds!  Croisette, with a tremendous whoop and a crash, bounded over me on to the floor!

She uttered a gasping cry—­a cry of intense, awful fear.  I have the sound in my ears even now.  With that she staggered back, clutching the air.  I heard the metallic clang and ring of something falling on the floor.  I heard an answering cry of alarm from the window; and then Madame de Pavannes ran forward and caught her in her arms.

It was strange to find the room lately so silent become at once alive with whispering forms, as we came hastily to light.  I cursed Croisette for his folly, and was immeasurably angry with him, but I had no time to waste words on him then.  I hurried to the door to guard it.  I opened it a hand’s breadth and listened.  All was quiet below; the house still.  I took the key out of the lock and put it in my pocket and went back.  Marie and Croisette were standing a little apart from Madame de Pavannes, who, hanging over her sister, was by turns bathing her face and explaining our presence.

In a very few minutes Madame d’O seemed to recover, and sat up.  The first shock of deadly terror had passed, but she was still pale.  She still trembled, and shrank from meeting our eyes, though I saw her, when our attention was apparently directed elsewhere, glance at one and another of us with a strange intentness, a shuddering curiosity.  No wonder, I thought.  She must have had a terrible fright—­one that might have killed a more timid woman!

“What on earth did you do that for!” I asked Croisette presently, my anger certainly not decreasing the more I looked at her beautiful face.  “You might have killed her!”

In charity I supposed his nerves had failed him, for he could not even now give me a straightforward answer.  His only reply was, “Let us get away!  Let us get away from this horrible house!” and this he kept repeating with a shudder as he moved restlessly to and fro.

“With all my heart!” I answered, looking at him with some contempt.  “That is exactly what we are going to do!”

But all the same his words reminded me of something which in the excitement of the scene I had momentarily forgotten, and that was our duty.  Pavannes must still be saved, though not for Kit; rather to answer to us for his sins.  But he must be saved!  And now that the road was open, every minute lost was reproach to us.  “Yes,” I added roughly, my thoughts turned into a more rugged channel, “you are right.  This is no time for nursing.  We must be going.  Madame de Pavannes,” I went on, addressing myself to her, “you know the way home from here—­to your house!” “Oh, yes,” she cried.