"I haven't got enough wood to boil the water."
Madame Darbois looked at the girls contritely. "Wood," she said. "And we never thought of it."
"If you aren't poor, you don't have to think," muttered the old woman.
A contraction of the heart, the sting of remorse, pierced Mme. Darbois and the two girls.
"To-morrow you shall have plenty of wood, Mme. Borderie."
"That will be very good, kind lady, for then we can have a little heat, and that is what the little one needs. The sun never comes into my room, ah! it can't, the hole is not big enough. And then in the evening when the fog begins, my little boy, he coughs so, and that makes me shiver; then I take him in my bed, but my blood is not warm enough so he can't get warm. Ah! but that will be good for him, to have wood! Thank you."
For the first time her face broke into a smile, for she had almost forgotten how to smile. Her life had been nearly all tears. Suddenly she raised her head in fright—"What may that noise be?"
At the door a cart stopped. On the cart a big barrel.
"Here is some water, Mme. Borderie, that we are going to pour into your cistern."
With the help of the carter and Maurice, Albert got to work and behold! the cistern half full. Albert tried the pump.