s piece of luck,
promenaders were darting with joyous rapidity from north, south, east and
west to witness the tragedy. There were nurses with coloured streamers six
feet long, lusty children, errand boys, lads, and sundry nondescript men,
some of whom carefully folded up their newspapers as they hurried to the
cynosure. They beheld the body as though it were a corpse, and the corpse
of an enemy; they formulated and discussed theories of the event; they
examined minutely the rackets which had been thrown on the ground. They
were exercising the immemorial rights of unmoved curiosity; they held
themselves as indifferent as gods, and the murmur of their impartial voices
floated soothingly over Musa, and the shadow of their active profiles
covered him from the sparkling sunshine. Somebody mentioned policemen, in
the plural, but none came. All remarked in turn that the ladies were
English, as though that were a sufficient explanation of the whole affair.

No one said:

"It is Musa, the greatest violinist in Paris and perhaps in Europe."

Desperately Audrey stooped and seized Musa beneath the armpits to lift him
to a sitting position.

"You'd better leave him alone," said Tommy, with a kind of ironic warning
and innuendo.

But Audrey still struggled with the mass, convinced that she was showing
initiative and firmness of character. The fourth with fierce vigour began
to aid her, and another youth from the crowd was joining the enterprise
when Miss Ingate arrived from her stool.

"Drop him, you silly little thing!" adjured Miss Ingate. "Instead of
lifting his head you ought to lift his feet."

Audrey stared uncertain for a moment, and then let the mass subside.
Whereupon Miss Ingate with all her strength lifted both legs to the height
of her waist, giving Musa the appearance of a wheelless barrow.

"You want to let the blood run _into_ his head," said Miss Ingate with a
self-conscious grin at the increasing crowd. "People only faint because the
blood leaves their heads--that's why they go pale."

Musa's cheeks showed a tinge of red. You could almost see the precious
blood being decanted by Miss Ingate out of the man's feet into his head. In
a minute he opened his eyes. Miss Ingate lowered the legs.

"It was only the pain that made him feel queer," she said.

The episode was over, and the crowd very gradually and reluctantly
scattered, disappointed at the lack of a fatal conclusion. Musa stood up,
smiling apologetic