“Dear child, to look at you warms me more than do these logs that you have put on the fire for me.”
The girl knelt down to take the kettle off the fire.
“You are going to have some boiling hot grog.”
As she got up, her mother had time to notice in the light how pale she was.
“But you are the one who should be looked after, Paule. You are quite white. You are ill, and you never told me.”
The old lady got up at once.
“Oh, it isn’t serious, Mother dear. You must not worry. Perhaps I took a slight chill waiting for you on the balcony. I will go to bed directly after supper.” And to calm the motherly fears she had the courage to repeat laughingly: “It is nothing at all, Mother, I assure you.” She was thinking that the dining-room lamp would show her face too clearly and suggested: “Suppose we have our supper here before the fire! This room is more comfortable.”
“But the table is laid already.”
“It can soon be changed. You will see.”
“Very well, dear. You are icy cold. And in Trélaz’s open carriage one is exposed to the worst of the weather.”