Meanwhile Mme. Auguste had been looking into the street, and seeing nobody out in the wet snow, she rushed back to Nettie. Nettie was like herself now, only very pale.
"I must have cut my lip somehow," she said; "there's blood on my handkerchief. How did I come in here?"
"Blood!" said the Frenchwoman,--"where did you cut yourself, Nettie? Let me look!"
Which she did, with a face so anxious and eager that Nettie smiled at her. Her own brow was as quiet and placid as ever it was.
The Frenchwoman, however, did not answer her. Instead of which she went to her cupboard and got a cup and spoon, and then from a little saucepan on the stove dipped out some riz-au-gras again.
"What did you have for dinner, Nettie? you did not tell me."
"Not much--I wasn't hungry," said Nettie. "O, I must get up and go home to mother."
"You shall eat something first," said her friend; and she raised Nettie's head upon another pillow, and began to feed her with the spoon. "It is good for you. You must take it. Where is your father? Don't talk, but tell me. I will do everything right."
"He is at work on Mr. Jackson's new house."
Mme. Auguste gave her all the "broth" in the cup, then bade her keep still, and went to the shop window. It was time for the men to be quitting work, she knew; she watched for the carpenters to come. If they were not gone by already!--how should she know? Even as she thought this, a sound of rude steps and men's voices came from down the road; and the Frenchwoman went to her door and opened it. The men came along, a scattered group of four or five.
"Is Mr. Mat'ieson there?" she said. Mme. Auguste hardly knew him by sight. "Men, I say! is Mr. Mat'ieson there?"
"George, that's you; you're wanted," said one of the group, looking back; and a fine-looking, tall man paused at Madame's threshold.
"Are you Mr. Mat'ieson?" said the Frenchwoman.
"Will you come in? I have something to speak to you. Your little daughter Nettie is very sick."
"Sick!" exclaimed the man. "Nettie!--Where is she?"
"She is here. Hush! you must not say nothing to her, but she is very sick. She is come fainting at my door, and I have got her in here; but she wants to go home, and I think you had better tell her she will not go home, but she will stay here with me to-night."