A new world
of hopes and fears, of interests and anxieties, seemed to have
suddenly opened for Jeanne-Marie, as she sat in the little
upper chamber; whilst in the public room downstairs the rough
men, in obedience to her word, sat silently drinking and
smoking, or talking in subdued voices, so that no disturbing
sound might reach the sick child above.
Madelon's second attack of fever was far worse than the first.
Weakened as she was by her former illness, it was an almost
hopeless fight with death that was carried on for days; and
when the crisis came at last, the doctor himself declared that
it was scarcely possible that she should rally, and be
restored to life and reason. But the crisis passed, and
Madelon was once more safe. She awoke about midnight to the
confused consciousness of a strange room, perplexing her with
unfamiliar surroundings. A dim light burned before the
coloured picture of a saint that hung on the rough white-
washed wall, and by its uncertain gleams she could distinguish
the rude furniture, the patchwork quilt, the heavy rafters
that crossed above her head.
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