"What's that?
Have you cut your hand, Madelon ?" Madelon glanced at her hand, and there was a broad red stain over the palm and three of her fingers.
"No," said she, and went on rubbing.
"But it looks like blood!" cried Louis, knitting his pale brows at her.
Madelon made no reply.
"Madelon, what is that on your hand ?" "Blood." "How came it there ?" "You'll know to-morrow." Madelon put the stopper in the cider-brandy and wormwood bottle; then she covered up the wounded arm and went out.
"Madelon, what is it?
What is the matter?
What ails you ?" Louis called after her.
"You'll know to-morrow," said she, and shut her chamber door, which was nearly opposite Louis's.

His youngest brother Richard occupied the same room, having his little cot at the other side, under the window.

When he came in, an hour later, Louis turned to him eagerly.
"Has anything happened ?" he demanded.
The boy's face, which was always so like his sister's, had the same despair in it now.

"Don't know of anything that's happened," he returned, surlily.
"What ails Madelon ?" "I tell you I don't know." Richard would say no more.

He blew out his candle and tumbled into bed, turned his face to the window and lay awake until and hour before dawn.