He leaned nearer to her, the movement sending a sharp pain between
his eyes. It almost drew a cry from him, but he forced himself to
speak without betraying it.
"You tried to murder me--and almost succeeded. Haven't you
anything to say?"
"Not now, m'sieu--except that it was a mistake. and I am sorry.
But you must not talk. You must remain quiet. I am afraid your
skull is fractured."
Afraid his skull was fractured! And she expressed her fear in the
casual way she might have spoken of a toothache. He leaned back
against his dunnage sack and closed his eyes. Probably she was
right. These fits of dizziness and nausea were suspicious. They
made him top-heavy and filled him with a desire to crumple up
somewhere. He was clear-mindedly conscious of this and of his
fight against the weakness. But in those moments when he felt
better and his head was clear of pain, he had not seriously
thought of a fractured skull. If she believed it, why did she not
treat him a bit more considerately? Bateese, with that strength of
an ox in his arms, had no use for her assistance with the paddle.
She might at least have sat facing him, even if she refused to
explain matters more definitely.
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