The two men looked at each other as though to detect the first flush of fever on the other’s face. They smiled grimly. The intense silence of the castle, the mist lying stagnant over the valley, seemed to accord with the invisible horror that lurked in the air.
“I am sound, madame.”
“And I—as yet.”
They crossed themselves and muttered a prayer and the names of several saints. Tiphaïne held out the cup to them, her eyes wandering to the figure under the sheet.
“I have brought you a hot posset,” she said; “it will keep out the damp.”
Jehanot drank first, and then passed the cup to his comrade. The man drained it, and then gave it back to Tiphaïne with a crook of the knee.
“I am going to sit with Enid,” she said.
Jehanot, the cripple, looked at her through half-closed lids, for the misty sunlight was in his eyes.
“Leave her to me, madame?” he asked.
“No, no.”