Margaret had a class that afternoon and set out two or three minutes
later. As she walked through the courtyard she started nervously, for
Oliver Haddo passed slowly by. He did not seem to see her. Suddenly he
stopped, put his hand to his heart, and fell heavily to the ground. The
_concierge_, the only person at hand, ran forward with a cry. She knelt
down and, looking round with terror, caught sight of Margaret.
'_Oh, mademoiselle, venez vite!_' she cried.
Margaret was obliged to go. Her heart beat horribly. She looked down at
Oliver, and he seemed to be dead. She forgot that she loathed him.
Instinctively she knelt down by his side and loosened his collar. He
opened his eyes. An expression of terrible anguish came into his face.
'For the love of God, take me in for one moment,' he sobbed. 'I shall die
in the street.'
Her heart was moved towards him. He could not go into the poky den,
evil-smelling and airless, of the _concierge_. But with her help Margaret
raised him to his feet, and together they brought him to the studio.
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