“Marguerite shook her head. Madelon went to a corner of the cottage, and came back with some twigs.
”‘I will try to make it up for you,’ she said; ‘come back with me. This wood is dry.’
”‘But, Madelon, you have so little for yourself,’ said Marguerite. ‘I had meant to try to find some this morning, though there is scarcely any now, but my fears for Louis, have stopped my doing anything.’
“They had coaxed the miserable fire into a more promising condition when the sound of voices on the road made Marguerite start nervously, and rush to the door. At first she thought that her worst fears were fulfilled. Two men were carrying something on a plank, while beside walked a boy—a boy of about ten or eleven, whom she did not know by sight, who from time to time as they came along stooped over the plank and looked anxiously at the motionless figure extended on it. With a fearful scream Marguerite rushed out.
”‘My Louis! my Louis!’ she cried. ‘Is he dead?’
“The two men tramped on into the cottage stolidly, and laid down the plank.
”‘Dead?—I know not,’ said one, with a sort of indifference that was not heartlessness. ‘Would you wish him alive, you foolish child?’
“But the little boy touched her gently.
”‘He is not dead,’ he said softly; ‘he has only fainted,’ and he drew a small bottle out of the inside of his jacket.
”‘I have a little wine here,’ he said, ‘mother gave it me before I left home. He is opening his eyes—give him a spoonful.’