"Oh, I fall," she said, smiling coquettishly at me.
The wound was several days old and not serious, but, owing to neglect, had got into a very bad condition.
"Ah, zat is better," she exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, when I had thoroughly cleansed the cut. I was just preparing to bandage it up, when she stopped me.
"No, meestair; not zat! My 'usban', 'e see zat, 'e know I come here, and zen 'e angry. Ze vashin' and ze salve zey make me better!"
"But look here, my good woman," I exclaimed, indignantly; "do you mean to say that your husband is such a brute that he objects to your having your wound dressed--a wound that you got in such a peculiar way, too?"
Her manner changed instantly; she drew herself haughtily up, and began buttoning up her dress.
"My 'usban' 'e no brute; 'e verra nice man; 'e love' me verra much."
"Yes," she asserted, "'e love me much, _oh oui, je vous assure qu'il m'adore_!" and she tossed her head and looked at me through the thick lashes of her half-closed eyes; "'e man, you know, 'e sometime jealous," she continued, smiling, as if his jealousy were a feather in her cap.
"Well, Madame Argot; that cut should be looked after, and, as it is in such a place that you cannot properly attend to it yourself, you must come in here every day, and I will dress it for you. Your husband cannot carry his devotion so far as to object to your covering it with a clean piece of linen, so I advise you to do that."
"Alla right, meestair, and zank you verra much. I come again ven I can, ven my 'usban' 'e go out sometime," and, after carefully wrapping herself up again, she sallied forth with infinite precautions.
Of course, the woman is a silly fool, and eaten up with vanity, but she had been pretty roughly handled, and that she should consider such treatment a tribute to her charms, seemed to me perfectly incomprehensible.
After reading for some time longer, I decided to go to bed, and, therefore, went into the front room to turn the lights out. Having done so, I lingered near the window, for the temperature here was at least several degrees cooler than the room I had just left. Although it was still early, the street appeared to be completely deserted, not a footfall was to be heard. As I stood there, half hidden by the curtain, a queer muffled noise fell upon my ears. It seemed to come from outside, and I moved nearer to the window, so as to try and discover what it could be. As I did so, a white face, not a foot away, peered suddenly into mine. I was so startled that I fell back a step, and before I recovered myself the creature was gone. I rushed out into the hall, and, unfastening the front door as quickly as I could, dashed into the street. Not a soul was in sight! The slight delay had given the fellow a chance to escape. Who could it have been? I wondered. A burglar, tempted by my open window? Or Argot, perhaps? This latter supposition was much the more alarming. What if he had seen his wife come out of my office? I thought of the murdered man, and shuddered. Notwithstanding the heat, I shut and bolted the window, and, as an extra precaution, also locked the door which connected the front room with my office and bedroom. I had no mind to be the next victim of an insane man's jealousy. All night long I was haunted by that white face! More and more it appeared to me to resemble Argot, till at last I determined to see Mr. Merritt and ask him if we had not sufficient grounds to warrant the Frenchman's arrest.