Book Two The Woman - Chapter 4 Which - Among Other Matters - Has to do with Bruises and Bandages

She was on her knees beside me, bathing my battered face, talking
all the while in a soft voice that I thought wonderfully sweet to
hear.

"Poor boy!" she was saying, over and over again, "poor boy!" And
after she had said it, perhaps a dozen times, I opened my eyes
and looked at her.

"Madam, I am twenty-five!" said I. Hereupon, sponge in hand, she
drew back and looked at me.

A wonderful face--low-browed, deep-eyed, full-lipped. The eyes
were dark and swiftly changeful, and there was a subtle witchery
in the slanting shadow of their lashes.

"Twenty-five!" she repeated, "can it really be?"

"Why not, madam?"

"So very young?"

"Why--" I began, greatly taken aback. "Indeed, I--that is--"

But here she laughed and then she sighed, and sighing, shook her
head.

"Poor boy!" said she, "poor boy!" And, when I would have
retorted, she stopped me with the sponge.

"Your mouth is cut," said she, after a while, "and there is a
great gash in your brow."

"But the water feels delicious!" said I.

"And your throat is all scratched and swollen!"

"But your hands are very gentle and soothing!"

"I don't hurt you, then?"

"On the contrary, the--the pain is very trifling, thank you."