“Guard her there, you good-for-nothing Pierre, or I’ll break every bone of your body!” They departed to spend the Doctor’s gold-piece.
Pierre tried vainly to comfort the girl. He could but find her a seat in a pile of snow! He warmed her hands with his own, strove to speak cheering words. But teeth were chattering, and her frail form was quivering as with the ague.
A great wave of pity and love overwhelmed the cripple. He peeled off his coat, beneath which were but the thinnest rags. He wrapped it around her, saying:
“There, there! this will help you keep warm. I really do not need it––I––I-am-not-c-c-cold!”
His own teeth were chattering now, and his pinched features were purple.
The blind girl touched his icy arm, half exposed by his ragged shirt, as she rose to sing for the charity of those who attended mass.
“No, no, Pierre,” she cried, removing the coat from her shoulders, “I will not let you freeze. Oh, how selfish I am to permit you to suffer, who have been so kind to me!”
Rejecting his entreaties, she made him put it on again, hiding her own suffering.
“Hearken! there sounds the organ for the recessional!” she continued. “Soon the people will be coming out. I will sing the same songs that my sister Henriette and I used to sing. Perhaps some one will recognize the melody, and lead me back to her!”