"But heaven forbid," she continued, her eyes on Croisette's face, "that, wanting help, I should refuse to give it.

Come in, if you will." I poured out my thanks, and had forced my head between the bars--at imminent risk of its remaining there--before the words were well out of her mouth.

But to enter was no easy task after all.

Croisette did, indeed, squeeze through at last, and then by force pulled first one and then the other of us after him.

But only necessity and that chasm behind could have nerved us, I think, to go through a process so painful.