Joe's intention was to direct the doctor to the hut, and then,
without returning thither himself, set off at once on his search for
Anton. This, however, the medical man would not permit. He was not
acquainted with the forest; he would not go there at so late an hour
on any consideration without a guide, so Joe had to change his mind
and go with him.
They walked along rapidly, the doctor wondering if there was any
chance of his still being in time for his promised dance, the boy too
unhappy, too plunged in gloom, to be able to utter a word. It was
nearly dark in the forest shade when at last they reached the little
tumbledown hut.
But what was the matter? The place Joe had left so still, so utterly
without any sound except that made by one weak and wandering voice,
seemed suddenly alive. When the doctor and the boy entered, voices,
more than one, were speaking eagerly. There was life, color, and
movement in the deserted little place.
Bending over the sick child, and tenderly placing a cool
handkerchief dipped in cold water on her brow, was a young woman of
noble height and proportions. Her face was sunshiny and beautiful,
and even in the gathering darkness Joe could see that her head was
crowned with a great wealth of golden hair. This young woman, having
laid the handkerchief on Cecile's forehead, raised her then tenderly
in her arms. As she did so, she turned to address some words in
rather broken French to a tall, dark-eyed old woman who stood at the
foot of the bed of pine needles.
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