Madelon was still lying on the bed, with her face buried in
the pillow; a violent shivering of cold or of fear had seized
her, but she resisted Jeanne-Marie's efforts to raise her with
the obstinacy of a strong will acted on by intense physical
alarm. But at length the woman's persuasive words appeared to
have a soothing effect, though she seemed scarcely to take in
their meaning, for she allowed herself to be undressed and put
into bed, and after taking some warm drink, fell into a
restless, starting sleep.
Jeanne-Marie drew a curtain across the small window, so as to
shut out the slanting sunbeams, which were pouring into the
room, on to the patchwork quilt and white pillow where the
little feverish head lay so uneasily; then, taking up her
knitting, she sat down by the bedside, and as she mechanically
added row after row to the blue worsted stocking, she
reflected. From Madelon's few distracted words, she imagined
that she knew the state of the case very well; it was one not
unprecedented, and presented no difficulties to either
comprehension of belief.
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