"We were marching all day," I replied, "and I am fainting with hunger and weariness."
She looked at me and I heard her say:
"Poor child! poor child! Well, take off your shoes and put on these sabots."
Then she made me sit before the stove, and asked:
"Are your feet sore?"
"Yes, they have been so for three days."
She put the candle upon the table and went out. I took off my coat and shoes. My feet were blistered and bleeding, and pained me horribly, and I felt for the moment as if it would almost be better to die at once than continue in such suffering.
This thought had more than once arisen to my mind in the march, but now, before that good fire, I felt so worn, so miserable, that I would gladly have lain myself down to sleep forever, notwithstanding Catharine, Aunt Grédel, and all who loved me. Truly, I needed God's assistance.
While these thoughts were running through my head, the door opened, and a tall, stout man, gray-haired, but yet strong and healthy, entered. He was one of those I had seen at work below, and held in his hands a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"Good-evening!" said he, gravely and kindly.