"Go and give her a hand, Laide," advised one.
"Go yerself," retorted Laide.
"But she wants you."
Laide decided to go, and slipping on her skirt, she went down the stairs.
"Oh, my child, my child," cried La Noyelle, brokenly, when she caught sight of her.
The joy of seeing Laide drove all thoughts of getting upstairs safely away.
"Come with me, little one, and I'll treat you to a glass; come on," urged the drunken creature.
But Laide would not be tempted.
"No, come on to bed," she said.
The woman continued to insist.