"Poor boy!" the woman said, compassionately. "Come in.
"Monsieur will pardon me," she went on, apologetically, "for speaking so, but I called you the boy captain, when I was telling my good man what a bright--
"But there, what you want now is rest, and food. The question is where to put you. We may be searched, at any time; though it's not likely that we shall be, for a few days. The battle has gone away in the direction of Orleans, and we have not seen half a dozen men since I saw you, two days ago.
"The first thing is to give you something warm. You are half frozen. Sit down for a few minutes. I will soon make a blaze."
Ralph sank down--utterly exhausted and worn out--in the settle by the fireplace; and fell into a half doze, while the woman lit a bright fire on the hearth. In a few minutes she had drawn some liquor from the pot-au-feu--the soup pot--which stands by the fireside of every French peasant, however poor; and into which all the odds and ends of the household are thrown. This liquor she put into a smaller pot; broke some bread into it, added an onion--which she chopped up while it was warming--together with a little pepper and salt and, in ten minutes from the time of Ralph's entry, she placed a bowl of this mixture, smoking hot, before him.
At first, he seemed too exhausted to eat; but gradually his appetite returned, and he finished off the hot broth.
"What shall I do to your wound, sir?" the woman said. "It is a terrible sight, at present."
"It is the cold which saved my life, I fancy," Ralph said, "by stopping the bleeding; but now it wants bathing in warm water, for some time, and then bandaging.
"But where are you going to put me?"
"In the boys' room, upstairs, sir. It is just as they left it."