He reflected that, with the enormous amount of wood here, this fire would rage hotter and hotter for hours until the stones themselves would be red hot or white hot and—­there would be nothing left when it all was over, absolutely nothing left but ashes.  No one would ever know their fate.

Then he thought of his mother.  He wished he might have sent her a line—­still she would know that her boy had fallen in a good cause, as his father had fallen.  He needn’t worry about his mother—­she would know.

Now another log crumbled with a sharp crackling.  Alice stirred uneasily and opened her eyes.  Then she sat up quickly, and there was something in her face Coquenil had never seen there, something he had never seen in any face.

“Willie, you naughty, naughty boy!” she cried.  “You have taken my beautiful dolly.  Poor little Esmeralda!  You threw her up on that shelf, Willie; yes, you did.”

Then, before Coquenil could prevent it, she slipped out from behind the shelter and stood up in the fire-bound chamber.

“Come back!” he cried, reaching after her, but the girl evaded him.

“There it is, on that shelf,” she went on positively, and, following her finger, Coquenil saw, what he had not noticed before, a massive stone shelf jutting out from the wall just over the wood pile.  “You must get my dolly,” she ordered.

“Certainly, I’ll get it,” said M. Paul soothingly.  “Come back here and—­I’ll get your dolly.”

She stamped her foot in displeasure.  “Not at all; I don’t like this place.  It’s a hot, nasty place and—­come”—­she caught Coquenil’s hand—­“we’ll go out where the fairies are.  That’s a much nicer place to play, Willie.”

Here there came to M. Paul an urging of mysterious guidance, as if an inward voice had spoken to him and said that God was trying to save them, that He had put wisdom in this girl’s mouth and that he must listen.

“All right,” he said, “we’ll go and play where the fairies are, but—­how do we get there?”

“Through the door under the shelf.  You know perfectly well, Willie!”

“Yes,” he agreed, “I know about the door, but—­I forget how to get it open.”

“Silly!” She stamped her foot again.  “You push on that stone thing under the shelf.”

Shading his eyes against the glare, Coquenil looked at the shelf and saw that it was supported by two stone brackets.

“You mean the thing that holds the shelf up?”

“Yes, you must press it.”

“But there are two things that hold the shelf up.  Is it the one on this side that you press or the one on that side?”

“Dear me, what an aggravating boy!  It’s the one this side, of course.”

“Good!  You lie down now and I’ll have it open in a jiffy.”

He started to force Alice behind the shelter, for the heat was actually blistering the skin, but to his surprise he found her suddenly limp in his arms.  Having spoken these strange words of wisdom or of folly, she had gone back into unconsciousness.