"Air, give her air and room," he cried, and some pushed forwards and others back. The fat woman took the girl's head upon her lap, whilst tears rained down her crimson cheeks.
"Eh, the poor pretty one," she sobbed hysterically, and pulled off her own ample kerchief to cover Aline's thin bosom. Dangeau leaned over her calling, calling still, unaware of Goyot at his side, and of Goyot's voice saying insistently, "Tiens, my friend, that was a near shave, eh?"
"My wife," he muttered, "my wife—my wife is dead," and with that he gazed round wildly, cried "No, no!" in a sharp voice, and fell to calling her again.
Goyot knelt on the reeking boards, caught the frail wrist in that brown skilful hand of his, shifted his grasp once, twice, a third time, shook his head, and took another grip. "No, she 's alive," he said at last, and had to say it more than once, for Dangeau took no heed.
"Aline! Aline! Aline!" he called in hoarse, trembling tones, and Goyot dropped the girl's wrist and took him harshly by the shoulder.
"Rouse, man, rouse!" he cried. "She's alive. I tell you. I swear it. For the love of Heaven, wake up, and help me to get her away. It's touch and go for all of us these next few hours. At any moment Henriot may have the upper hand, and half an hour would do our business, with this pretty toy so handy." He grimaced at the red axe above them, "Come, Dangeau, play the man!"
Dangeau stared at him.
"What am I to do?" he asked irritably.
Goyot pressed his shoulder with a firm hand.
"Lift your wife, and bring her along after me. Can you manage? She looks light enough."