"And so would I," said Madeleine. "God knows, but for the children I should have said to you, long ago, 'Morel, we have had more than enough to weary us of our lives; there is nothing left but to finish our misery by the help of a pan of charcoal!' But then I recollected the poor, dear, helpless children, and my heart would not let me leave them, alone and unprotected, to starve by themselves."
"Well, then, you see, wife, that the children are, after all, of real good to us, since they prevent us giving way to despair, and serve as a motive for exerting ourselves," replied Morel, with ready ingenuity, yet perfect simplicity of tone and manner. "Now, then, take your drink, but only swallow a little at a time, for it is very cold still."
"Oh, thank you, Morel!" cried Madeleine, snatching the cup, and drinking it eagerly.
"Enough! enough! no more! you shall not have any more just now, Madeleine."
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed Madeleine, giving back the cup, "how cold it seems now I have swallowed it,—it has brought back those dreadful shiverings!"
"Alas!" ejaculated Morel, "I told you so,—ah, now you are quite ill again!"
"I have not strength even to tremble,—I seem as though I were covered over with ice."
Morel took off his jacket, and laid it over his wife's feet, remaining quite naked down to his waist,—the unhappy man did not possess a shirt.
"But you will be frozen to death, Morel!"
"Never mind me; if I find it cold by and by, I will put my jacket on for a few minutes."