"Wake him! wake him!" cried Zeffen.
Sorlé took my hands and said:
"Quick! make a fire! heat some water!"
And we laid him across the bed, shaking him and calling him by name. Little Esdras began to cry.
"Light a fire!" said Sorlé again to me. "And, Zeffen, be quiet! It does no good to cry so! Quick, quick, a fire!"
But Zeffen cried out incessantly, "My poor child!"
"He will soon be warm again," said Sorlé; "only, Moses, make haste and dress yourself, and run for Doctor Steinbrenner."
She was pale and more alarmed than we, but this brave woman never lost her presence of mind or her courage. She had made a fire, and the fagots were crackling in the chimney.
I ran to get my cloak, and went down, thinking to myself:
"The Lord have mercy upon us! If the child dies I shall not survive him! No, he is the one that I love best, I could not survive him!"