f-hidden door at the bottom of the shop with the little borrowed maid
crouched at her feet.

She had twice or thrice felt a regret that she had undertaken to wait,
and was about to rise and go, when suddenly she saw before her Joseph
Frowenfeld, wiping the sweat of anguish from his brow and smeared with
blood from his forehead down. She rose quickly and silently, turned sick
and blind, and laid her hand upon the back of the chair for support.
Frowenfeld stood an instant before her, groaned, and disappeared through
the door. The little maid, retreating backward against her from the
direction of the street-door, drew to her attention a crowd of
sight-seers which had rushed up to the doors and against which Raoul was
hurriedly closing the shop.

CHAPTER XXXIV

CLOTILDE AS A SURGEON

Was it worse to stay, or to fly? The decision must be instantaneous. But
Raoul made it easy by crying in their common tongue, as he slammed a
massive shutter and shot its bolt:

"Go to him! he is down--I heard him fall. Go to him!"

At this rallying cry she seized her shield--that is to say, the little
yellow attendant--and hurried into the room. Joseph lay just beyond the
middle of the apartment, face downward. She found water and a basin, wet
her own handkerchief, and dropped to her knees beside his head; but the
moment he felt the small feminine hands he stood up. She took him by
the arm.

"_Asseyez-vous, Monsieu'_--pliz to give you'sev de pens to seet down,
'Sieu' Frowenfel'."

She spoke with a nervous tenderness in contrast with her alarmed and
entreating expression of face, and gently pushed him into a chair.

The child ran behind the bed and burst into frightened sobs, but ceased
when Clotilde turned for an instant and glared at her.

"Mague yo' 'ead back," said Clotilde, and with tremulous tenderness she
softly pressed back his brow and began wiping off the blood. "W'ere you
is 'urted?"

But while she was asking her question she had found the gash and was
growing alarmed at its ugliness, when Raoul, having made everything
fast, came in with:

"Wat's de mattah, 'Sieur Frowenfel'? w'at's de mattah wid you? Oo done
dat, 'Sieur Frowen fel'?"

Joseph lifted his head and drew away from it the small hand and wet
handkerchief, and without letting go the hand, looked again into
Clotilde's eyes, and said:

"Go home; oh, go home!"

"Oh! no," protested Raoul, whereupon Clotilde turned upon him with a
perfectly amiable,