His eye fell upon a carafe of water
on a chair at his bedside; he seized upon it with a shaking hand and
drank half its contents before he set it down. The action attracted
his companion's attention and he looked up, showing a pale and haggard
countenance.
"How do you feel?" inquired Cooley with a wan smile.
Mellin's head dropped back upon the pillow and he made one or two
painful efforts to speak before he succeeded in finding a ghastly
semblance of his voice.
"I thought I was at Madame de Vaurigard's."
"You were," said the other, adding grimly: "We both were."
"But that was only a minute ago."
"It was six hours ago. It's goin' on ten o'clock in the morning."
"I don't understand how that can be. How did I get here?"
"I brought you. I was pretty bad, but you--I never saw anything like
you! From the time you kissed Lady Mount-Rhyswicke--"
Mellin sat bolt upright in bed, staring wildly. He began to tremble
violently.
"Don't you remember that?" asked Cooley.
Suddenly he did. The memory of it came with inexorable clarity, he
crossed forearms over his horror-stricken face and fell back upon his
pillow.
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