“Why—why do you look at me like that?” she faltered. “They are horrible and disgusting, and they hurt me! I never heard of anything so dreadful!”
“Is it so?” Gretli spoke gravely. “Mademoiselle is young. There are many things more dreadful than a sangsue, which was made by the Divine Hand, and given for the use of man. Mademoiselle observes that we live upon a mountain, where physicians do not abound; thus, we employ the remedies that Nature imparted to our fathers, and are thankful. To the montagnard, the sangsue is a good friend. Zitli went before daybreak to the little pond to bring these fresh and lively for mademoiselle.”
Honor blushed scarlet, and hung her head.
“I am sorry!” she murmured. “It—it was very kind of Zitli. Don’t tell him, please, Gretli! I am so ashamed!”
“Assuredly, no!” Gretli was her own beaming self again; a slight shake of her head as she glanced toward the door warned Zitli to make no sound; he vanished silently.
“Friend sangsue is not beautiful!” she admitted cheerfully. “Also, he surprised mademoiselle. I should have explained in advance—but in that case mademoiselle might not have permitted; so all is well, and now I remove these gentlemen, who have breakfasted to heart’s content—voilà! Back to your bowl, messieurs! Now a little massage, and we shall see!”
Wonderful massage that, with the strong, supple fingers! The pain seemed to melt away under them. When it was over, and the ankle firmly bound in bandages of strong homespun linen (no “gauze” in mountain châlets!) Honor declared it felt almost entirely well.
“I believe I could walk on it! May I try, Gretli?”
“On no account, Mademoiselle! It is great happiness to have relieved you of the pain, but for strength, time and patience are required. It will be several days before mademoiselle can stand on that foot; meantime—behold her conveyance.”
She held out her massive brown arms with a delightful smile. Ten minutes later, Honor was reclining, well propped with pillows, on the seat that ran the length of the broad window in the living room. Her lame ankle, swathed in its bandages, contrasted oddly with her other foot in its stout little walking shoe. Honor had pretty feet. Stephanie admired them greatly (her own feet being large and flat) and was constantly praising them. Soeur Séraphine heard her one day, and said gravely that both girls should be simply thankful that their feet were not deformed.