Or rather, where the balustrade had been. It was no longer there. In its place was merely the workman's ladder I had wedged that very day across below the unsteady coping. Beyond this frail barrier was a gap of darkness and a thirty-foot drop to the gravel and that terrible line of iron spikes…
My hands were on him, my voice hoarse and shaking.
"Philippe? What happened? You didn't fall. Oh, God, you didn't fall… oh my little Philippe, are you all right?"
Small cold hands came up and clung. "Mademoiselle…"
I had him in my arms, my face against his wet cheek. "Are you all right, Philippe? Are you hurt?" I felt his head shake. "Sure? Quite sure?" A nod. I stood up with him in my arms. I am not big myself, but he seemed a feather-weight, a bundle of birds'-bones. I carried him into the schoolroom, over to the fireplace, and sat down in a wing-chair, cuddling him close to me. His arms came up round my neck and clung tightly. I don't know what I was saying to him: I just hugged and crooned rubbish over the round dark head that was buried in my neck.
Presently he relaxed his strangle-hold and stopped shivering. But when I tried to stoop for a log to put on the fire he clutched me again.
"It's all right," I said quickly, "I'm only going, to build the fire up. We must get you warm, you know."
He suffered me to lean forward, throw some faggots onto the sullen fire, and stir it until some little tongues of flame crept up around the new wood and began to lick brightly at it. Then I sat back in the chair again. It seemed to me that the reassurance of my arms was of more importance at that moment than food or hot drinks or any of the remedies that would follow shortly. I said gently: "Was it the car, Philippe?"
That little nod again.
"But I warned you the stone was loose. I told you not to go galloping along there, didn't I?"
He said in a voice that sounded thinner and more childish than ever: "I heard the horn. I thought… Daddy always used, to… on the drive… to tell me he was coming…”
I bit my lip, then winced. Of course, the horn. I remembered that arrogant blare on the zigzag. I had seen nothing on the road. It had merely been part, no doubt, of the flare of temper and excitement that had driven Raoul to kiss me… and driven Philippe out into the darkness, running in a stubborn, passionate hope to fling himself against the rotten stone.
I said, as much to myself as him: "I'd no idea the coping was as dangerous. It only seemed to move such a little. I thought it would hold. Thank God I put the ladder across. Why I did… oh, thank God I did!" Then a thought struck me. "Philippe, where was Berthe? I thought she was with you."
"Bernard came for her. Something she'd forgotten to do."
"I see," I waited for a moment, holding him. "Look, Philippe, we've got a lovely fire now. What about warming those frozen paws?"
This time he unclasped himself without demur, and slipped down onto the rug beside me, holding out his hands obediently to the now bright blaze of the fire. I ruffled his hair. "This is wet, too. What a beastly night to go running out in! You are a little ass, aren't you?"
He said, his voice still too tight and sharp: "I hit the stone and then it wasn't there. It went over with a bang. I bumped into something. I couldn't see it. I fell down. I couldn't see anything."
"It was the ladder you bumped into, Philippe. You couldn't have fallen over, you know. There wasn't really a gap. You couldn't see the ladder, but it's a very solid one. It was really quite safe. Quite safe."
"It was awful. I was frightened."
"I don't blame you," I said, "I'd have been scared stiff. It was awfully sensible of you not to move."
“I didn’t dare. I knew you'd come." The plain, pale little face turned to me. "So I waited."
Something twisted inside me. I said lightly: "And I came. What a good thing I came up in your cousin Raoul's car instead of waiting for the bus!" I got up and bent over him, slipping my hands under his arms. "Now, come and get these things off. Up with you." I swung him to his feet. "Goodness, child, you've been lying in a puddle! What about a hot bath and then supper in bed with a fire in your bedroom as a treat?"
"Will you be there?"
"Yes."
"Have your supper in my room?"
"I'll sit on your bed," I promised.
The black eyes glinted up at me. "And play Peggitty?"
"Oho!" I said. "So you're beginning to make capital out of this, are you? What's more, you're getting too dashed good at Peggitty. All right, if you'll promise not to beat me." I swung him round and gave him a little shove towards the door. "Now go and get those things off while I run the bath."
He went off obediently. I rang the bell for Berthe, and then went to turn on the bath. As I watched the steam billowing up to cloud the tiles I reflected a little grimly that now I should have to face Léon de Valmy again tonight.
Above the noise of the taps I heard a knock on the door that led from my sitting-room. I called: "Come in." Berthe had been very quick.
I turned then in surprise, as I saw that it wasn't Berthe, but Madame de Valmy. She never came to these rooms at this hour, and as I caught sight of her expression my heart sank. This, then, was it. And I hadn't had time to think out what to say.
I twisted the taps a little to lessen the gush of water, and straightened up to meet whatever was coming.
"Miss Martin, forgive me for interrupting you while you're changing-" Hardly a frightening opening, that; her voice was apologetic, hurrying, almost nervous: "I wondered-did you remember to get me my tablets in Thonon this afternoon?"
I felt myself flushing with relief. "Why, yes, madame. I was going to give them to Berthe to put in your room. I'm sorry, I didn't realise you'd want them straight away."'
"I'm out of them, or I wouldn't trouble you."
"I'll get them now," I said. "No, really, it's no trouble, madame. You're not interrupting me; this bath isn't for me. Philippe!"
I bent to test the water, then turned off the taps. "Oh, there you are, Philippe. Hop in, and don't by-pass your ears this time… I'll get your tablets straight away, madame. My bag's through in my sitting-room."
As I came out of the bathroom and shut the door behind me I was wondering how to tell her about the recent near-tragedy. But as I looked at her all idea of this melted into a different consternation. She looked ill. The expression that I had thought forbidding was revealed now as the pallor, set lips, and strained eyes of someone on the verge of collapse.
I said anxiously: "Are you all right? You don't look well at all. Won't you sit down for a few minutes? Shall I get you some water?"
"No." She had paused by the fireplace, near a high-backed chair. She managed to smile at me; I could see the effort it took. "Don't worry, my dear. I-I didn't sleep well last night, that's all. I don't manage very well nowadays without my medicine."
"I'll get it straight away." Throwing her another doubtful look I ran towards my sitting-room, only to remember that the tablets were after all still in the pocket of my coat. I turned swiftly.
"Madame!" The horrified anxiety of the cry was wrenched out of me by what I saw.
She had put a hand on the chair-back, and was leaning heavily on it. Her face was turned away from me, as if she were listening to Philippe splashing in the bathroom, but her eyes were shut, and her cheeks were a crumpled grey. No beauty there. She looked old.
At my exclamation she started, and her eyes flew open. She seemed to make an effort, and moved away from the chair.
I ran back to her. "Madame, you are ill. Shall I call someone? Albertine?"
"No, no. I shall be all right. My tablets?"
"In my coat-pocket in the wardrobe. Yes, here they are… She almost grabbed the box I held out to her. She managed another smile. "Thank you. I'm sorry if I alarmed you… these things pass. Don't look so worried, Miss Martin." In the bathroom Philippe had set up a shrill tuneless whistling that came spasmodically between splashes. Héloïse glanced towards the noise and then turned to go. She said, with an obvious attempt at normality: "Philippe sounds… very gay."