looked into it and saw that it reflected a face death-like in its
pallor, with burning lips and feverish eyes. She took the bottle from
her pocket again and gulped down the rest of its contents. It sent a
flush into her cheeks and steadied the sick trembling that was shaking
her through and through.

Without stopping to think or look round again, she took up her boy and
descended the stairs, and entered the room where they had supped on the
previous night.

The old woman was its sole occupant now. She was bending over the fire
frying something for breakfast, and the table in the centre of the room
was prepared for the meal. She looked if possible more untidy and
slovenly than when Babette had last seen her, and greeted the girl with
a feeble smile.

Then she poured her out a cup of coffee, and Babette had sat down and
begun to sip it (for she knew she must make a pretence of breakfasting)
when the eldest son came in. There was a very uneasy look upon his
evil-looking face.

"How are you?" he asked, sullenly, as he sat down opposite her. "I hope,
rested. Did you sleep well?"

Never afterwards did she know how she found courage to answer him as she
did, quietly and firmly:--

"Yes, very well, thank you. But my friend--he must have over-slept
himself--why is he not down?"