LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

human shortcomings. They have neither the vices, the passions, nor the tempers of their fathers; and these precocious philosophers, models of sagacity and virtue, are incapable of committing the least folly. Alas! Albert, too, was perfect; and he has assassinated Claudine! What will this one do? — All the same,” he added, half-aloud, “I ought to have accompanied him to see Valerie!”

      And, although the advocate had been gone at least a good ten minutes, M. de Commarin, not realising how the time had passed, hastened to the window, in the hope of seeing Noel in the court-yard, and calling him back.

      But Noel was already far away. On leaving the house, he took a cab and was quickly driven to the Rue St. Lazare.

      On reaching his own door, he threw rather than gave five francs to the driver, and ran rapidly up the four flights of stairs.

      “Who has called to see me?” he asked of the servant.

      “No one, sir.”

      He seemed relieved from a great anxiety, and continued in a calmer tone, “And the doctor?”

      “He came this morning, sir,” replied the girl, “while you were out; and he did not seem at all hopeful. He came again just now, and is still here.”

      “Very well. I will go and speak to him. If any one calls, show them into my study, and let me know.”

      On entering Madame Gerdy’s chamber, Noel saw at a glance that no change for the better had taken place during his absence. With fixed eyes and convulsed features, the sick woman lay extended upon her back. She seemed dead, save for the sudden starts, which shook her at intervals, and disarranged the bedclothes.

      Above her head was placed a little vessel, filled with ice water, which fell drop by drop upon her forehead, covered with large bluish spots. The table and mantel-piece were covered with little pots, medicine bottles, and half-emptied glasses. At the foot of the bed, a piece of rag stained with blood showed that the doctor had just had recourse to leeches.

      Near the fireplace, where was blazing a large fire, a nun of the order of St. Vincent de Paul was kneeling, watching a saucepan. She was a young woman, with a face whiter than her cap. Her immovably placid features, her mournful look, betokened the renunciation of the flesh, and the abdication of all independence of thought.

      Her heavy grey costume hung about her in large ungraceful folds. Every time she moved, her long chaplet of beads of coloured box-wood, loaded with crosses and copper medals, shook and trailed along the floor with a noise like a jingling of chains.

      Dr. Herve was seated on a chair opposite the bed, watching, apparently with close attention, the nun’s preparations. He jumped up as Noel entered.

      “At last you are here,” he said, giving his friend a strong grasp of the hand.

      “I was detained at the Palais,” said the advocate, as if he felt the necessity of explaining his absence; “and I have been, as you may well imagine, dreadfully anxious.”

      He leant towards the doctor’s ear, and in a trembling voice asked: “Well, is she at all better?”

      The doctor shook his head with an air of deep discouragement.

      “She is much worse,” he replied: “since morning bad symptoms have succeeded each other with frightful rapidity.”

      He checked himself. The advocate had seized his arm and was pressing it with all his might. Madame Gerdy stirred a little, and a feeble groan escaped her.

      “She heard you,” murmured Noel.

      “I wish it were so,” said the doctor; “It would be most encouraging. But I fear you are mistaken. However, we will see.” He went up to Madame Gerdy, and, whilst feeling her pulse, examined her carefully; then, with the tip of his finger, he lightly raised her eyelid.

      The eye appeared dull, glassy, lifeless.

      “Come, judge for yourself; take her hand, speak to her.”

      Noel, trembling all over, did as his friend wished. He drew near, and, leaning over the bed, so that his mouth almost touched the sick woman’s ear, he murmured: “Mother, it is I, Noel, your own Noel. Speak to me, make some sign, do you hear me, mother?”

      It was in vain; she retained her frightful immobility. Not a sign of intelligence crossed her features.

      “You see,” said the doctor, “I told you the truth.”

      “Poor woman!” sighed Noel, “does she suffer?”

      “Not at present.”

      The nun now rose; and she too came beside the bed.

      “Doctor,” said she: “all is ready.”

      “Then call the servant, sister, to help us. We are going to apply a mustard poultice.”

      The servant hastened in. In the arms of the two women, Madame Gerdy was like a corpse, whom they were dressing for the last time. She was as rigid as though she were dead. She must have suffered much and long, poor woman, for it was pitiable to see how thin she was. The nun herself was affected, although she had become habituated to the sight of suffering. How many invalids had breathed their last in her arms during the fifteen years that she had gone from pillow to pillow!

      Noel, during this time, had retired into the window recess, and pressed his burning brow against the panes.

      Of what was he thinking, while she who had given him so many proofs of maternal tenderness and devotion was dying a few paces from him? Did he regret her? was he not thinking rather of the grand and magnificent existence which awaited him on the other side of the river, at the Faubourg St. Germain? He turned abruptly round on hearing his friend’s voice.

      “It is done,” said the doctor; “we have only now to wait the effect of the mustard. If she feels it, it will be a good sign; if it has no effect, we will try cupping.”

      “And if that does not succeed?”

      The doctor answered only with a shrug of the shoulders, which showed his inability to do more.

      “I understand your silence, Herve,” murmured Noel. “Alas! you told me last night she was lost.”

      “Scientifically, yes; but I do not yet despair. It is hardly a year ago that the father-inlaw of one of our comrades recovered from an almost identical attack; and I saw him when he was much worse than this; suppuration had set in.”

      “It breaks my heart to see her in this state,” resumed Noel. “Must she die without recovering her reason even for one moment? Will she not recognise me, speak one word to me?”

      “Who knows? This disease, my poor friend, baffles all foresight. Each moment, the aspect may change, according as the inflammation affects such or such a part of the brain. She is now in a state of utter insensibility, of complete prostration of all her intellectual faculties, of coma, of paralysis so to say; tomorrow, she may be seized with convulsions, accompanied with a fierce delirium.”

      “And will she speak then?”

      “Certainly; but that will neither modify the nature nor the gravity of the disease.”

      “And will she recover her reason?”

      “Perhaps,” answered the doctor, looking fixedly at his friend; “but why do you ask that?”

      “Ah, my dear Herve, one word from Madame Gerdy, only one, would be of such use to me!”

      “For your affair, eh! Well, I can tell you nothing, can promise you nothing. You have as many chances in your favour as against you; only, do not leave her. If her intelligence returns, it will be only momentary, try and profit by it. But I must go,” added the doctor; “I have still three calls to make.”

      Noel followed his friend. When they reached the landing, he asked: “You will return?”

      “This evening, at nine. There will be no need of me till then. All depends upon the watcher. But

Скачать книгу