Then, turning to Louis, in a voice cold and free from emotion, "Are you going ?" she asked.
He muttered that he was, his face a medley of fear and spite and shame.
She nodded, but to Claude's astonishment expressed no surprise.
Meanwhile Louis, after dropping first his cloak and then his sack, in his haste to be gone, shuffled his way to the door.

The two looked on, without moving or speaking, while he opened it, carried out his bag, and, turning about, closed the door upon himself.

They heard his footsteps move away.
At length Claude spoke.

"The rats, I see, are leaving," he muttered.
"Yes, the rats!" she echoed, and carried for a moment her eyes to his.
Then she knelt on the hearth, and uncovering the under side of the log, where a little fire still smouldered, she fed it with two or three fir-cones, and, stooping low, blew steadily on them until they caught fire and blazed.

He stood looking down at her, and marvelled at the strength of mind that allowed her to stoop to trifles, or to think of fires at such a time as this.