"So it should be," Madame Royaume replied, with sternness. "The man to the wall, the maid to the pall! It was ever so!"
A low cry burst from Anne's lips. "God forbid!" she wailed. "God forbid! God have mercy!"
The next moment she could have bitten out her tongue; she knew that such words and such a cry were of all others the most likely to excite her patient. But after some obscure fashion their positions seemed this night to be reversed. It was the mother who in her turn patted her daughter's hand and sought to soothe her.
"Ay, God forbid," she said softly. "But man must do his part. I mind when——" She paused. Her eyes travelling round the room, fixed their gaze on the fireplace. She seemed to be perplexed by something she saw there, and Anne, still fearing a recurrence of her illness, asked her hurriedly what it was. "What is it; mother?" she said, leaning over her, and following the direction of her eyes. "Is it the great pot you are looking at?"
"Ay," Madame Royaume answered slowly. "How comes it here?"
"There was no one below," Anne explained. "I brought it up this morning. Don't you remember? There is no fire below."
"No?"
"That is all, mother. You saw me bring it up."
"Ay?" And then after a pause: "Let it down a hook."
"But——"