"No."

Madelon went up the steep stairs to her chamber, but before she
opened her door her brother Louis's voice, broken with pain, besought
her to come into his room and bathe his sprained shoulder for him.
She went in, set the candle on the table, and rubbed in the
cider-brandy and wormwood without a word. Louis, in the midst of his
pain, kept looking up wonderingly at his sister's face. It looked as
if it were frozen. She did not seem to see him. Nothing about her
seemed alive but her gently moving hands.

Suddenly he gave a startled cry. "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