'Lord, mistress!' she said, after she had recovered from the first shock of alarm, when she recognised Mirelle; 'sure enough you did give me a turn.'
Mirelle was in her long white nightdress, her dark hair was unbound, and fell over her shoulders. The white, delicate feet were bare.
'What be the matter, darling?'
Mirelle took each step on the stair hesitatingly, with foot poised before her, as though feeling in the air, before she lowered it. She descended in this way very leisurely, as one walking in a dream, or one blind, groping the way in an unknown place. Her hand was on the banister, and the bar trembled.
She reached the landing, and stood under the clock. She made no attempt to descend farther.
'Oh, Geneviève, the fire is gone out.'
'I reckon the wood were damp,' said the old woman. 'It be too late, and not possible to light it again now.'
'And the candles are flickering in their sockets.'
'There is not another in the house. Look at mine.'
'It will be so dark.'