The second old man now rose, drew a deep breath and climbed the cellar stair. For a time he stood blinking, and mouthing his scattered teeth. He was trying to speak and could not.
"What is it?" they called up to him. "What has happened?"
He did not answer. He made inarticulate sounds, and suddenly with incredible speed, darted forward into the smoke and the sunlight.
A little hand cold and wet crept into Jeanne Bergère's. She was vexed. She wished to go out of the cellar with the others; but the little hand clung to her so tightly that she could not free herself.
Except for the old woman who had drunk from the well, and the old man, all in a heap at the foot of the cellar stair, they were alone. She and the little boy.
"It is true," said the little boy, "at least I think it is true about the water…when…nobody was looking…. Please, please stay with me, Jeanne Bergère."
"You drank when it was forbidden? That was very naughty, Charlie…. Good God, what am I saying—you poor baby—you poor baby." She snatched him into her arms, and held him with a kind of tigerish ferocity.
"It hurts," said Charlie. "It hurts. It hurts me all over. It hurts worse all the time."
"I will go for help," she said. "Wait."
"Please do not go away."