"Doctor," the woman replied, "I would ask nothing better than to come as often as you told me, but the cost is too great."
"How--what cost? You were coming to my free clinic."
"Yes, sir," replied the woman, "but that"s during working hours, and then it is a long way from home. There are so many sick people, and I have to wait my turn, It is in the morning--sometimes I lose a whole day--and then my employer is annoyed, and he threatens to turn me off.
It is things like that that keep people from coming, until they dare not put it off any longer. Then, too, sir--" the woman stopped, hesitating.
"Well," demanded the doctor.
"Oh, nothing, sir," she stammered. "You have been too good to me already."
"Go on," commanded the other. "Tell me."
"Well," murmured the woman, "I know I ought not to put on airs, but you see I have not always been so poor. Before my husband"s misfortune, we were well fixed. So you see, I have a little pride. I have always managed to take care of myself. I am not a woman of the streets, and to stand around like that, with everybody else, to be obliged to tell all one"s miseries out loud before the world! I am wrong, I know it perfectly well; I argue with myself--but all the same, it"s hard, sir; I a.s.sure you, it is truly hard."
"Poor woman!" said the doctor; and for a while there was a silence. Then he asked: "It was your husband who brought you the disease?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply. "Everything which happened to us came from him. We were living in the country when he got the disease. He went half crazy. He no longer knew how to manage his affairs. He gave orders here and there for considerable sums. We were not able to find the money."
"Why did he not undergo treatment?"
"He didn"t know then. We were sold out, and we came to Paris. But we hadn"t a penny. He decided to go to the hospital for treatment."
"And then?"
"Why, they looked him over, but they refused him any medicine."
"How was that?"
"Because we had been in Paris only three months. If one hasn"t been a resident six months, one has no right to free medicine."
"Is that true?" broke in Monsieur Loches quickly.
"Yes," said the doctor, "that"s the rule."
"So you see," said the woman, "it was not our fault."
"You never had children?" inquired the doctor.
"I was never able to bring one to birth," was the answer. "My husband was taken just at the beginning of our marriage--it was while he was serving in the army. You know, sir--there are women about the garrisons--" She stopped, and there was a long silence.
"Come," said the doctor, "that"s all right. I will arrange it with you.
You can come here to my office, and you can come on Sunday mornings."
And as the poor creature started to express her grat.i.tude, he slipped a coin into her hand. "Come, come; take it," he said gruffly. "You are not going to play proud with me. No, no, I have no time to listen to you.
Hush!" And he pushed her out of the door.
Then he turned to the deputy. "You heard her story, sir," he said. "Her husband was serving his time in the army; it was you law-makers who compelled him to do that. And there are women about the garrisons--you heard how her voice trembled as she said that? Take my advice, sir, and look up the statistics as to the prevalence of this disease among our soldiers. Come to some of my clinics, and let me introduce you to other social types. You don"t care very much about soldiers, perhaps--they belong to the lower cla.s.ses, and you think of them as rough men. But let me show you what is going on among our college students--among the men our daughters are some day to marry. Let me show you the women who prey upon them! Perhaps, who knows--I can show you the very woman who was the cause of all the misery in your own family!"
And as Monsieur Loches rose from his chair, the doctor came to him and took him by the hand. "Promise me, sir," he said, earnestly, "that you will come back and let me teach you more about these matters. It is a chance that I must not let go--the first time in my life that I ever got hold of a real live deputy! Come and make a study of this subject, and let us try to work out some sensible plan, and get seriously to work to remedy these frightful evils!"
CHAPTER VI
George lived with his mother after Henriette had left his home. He was wretchedly unhappy and lonely. He could find no interest in any of the things which had pleased him before. He was ashamed to meet any of his friends, because he imagined that everyone must have heard the dreadful story--or because he was not equal to making up explanations for his mournful state. He no longer cared much about his work. What was the use of making a reputation or earning large fees when one had nothing to spend them for?
All his thoughts were fixed upon the wife and child he had lost. He was reminded of Henriette in a thousand ways, and each way brought him a separate pang of grief. He had never realized how much he had come to depend upon her in every little thing--until now, when her companionship was withdrawn from him, and everything seemed to be a blank. He would come home at night, and opposite to him at the dinner-table would be his mother, silent and spectral. How different from the days when Henriette was there, radiant and merry, eager to be told everything that had happened to him through the day!
There was also his worry about little Gervaise. He might no longer hear how she was doing, for he could not get up courage to ask his mother the news. Thus poor George was paying for his sins. He could make no complaints against the price, however high--only sometimes he wondered whether he would be able to pay it. There were times of such discouragement that he thought of different ways of killing himself.
A curious adventure befell him during this period. He was walking one day in the park, when he saw approaching a girl whose face struck him as familiar. At first he could not recollect where he had seen her. It was only when she was nearly opposite him that he realized--it was the girl who had been the cause of all his misery!
He tried to look away, but he was too late. Her eyes had caught his, and she nodded and then stopped, exclaiming, "Why, how do you do?"
George had to face her. "How do you do?" he responded, weakly.
She held out her hand and he had to take it, but there was not much welcome in his clasp. "Where have you been keeping yourself?" she asked.
Then, as he hesitated, she laughed good-naturedly, "What"s the matter?
You don"t seem glad to see me."
The girl--Therese was her name--had a little package under her arm, as if she had been shopping. She was not well dressed, as when George had met her before, and doubtless she thought that was the reason for his lack of cordiality. This made him rather ashamed, and so, only half realizing what he was doing, he began to stroll along with her.
"Why did you never come to see me again?" she asked.
George hesitated. "I--I--" he stammered--"I"ve been married since then."
She laughed. "Oh! So that"s it!" And then, as they came to a bench under some trees, "Won"t you sit down a while?" There was allurement in her glance, but it made George shudder. It was incredible to him that he had ever been attracted by this crude girl. The spell was now broken completely.
She quickly saw that something was wrong. "You don"t seem very cheerful," she said. "What"s the matter?"
And the man, staring at her, suddenly blurted out, "Don"t you know what you did to me?"
"What I did to you?" Therese repeated wonderingly.
"You must know!" he insisted.
And then she tried to meet his gaze and could not. "Why--" she stammered.
There was silence between them. When George spoke again his voice was low and trembling. "You ruined my whole life," he said--"not only mine, but my family"s. How could you do it?"
She strove to laugh it off. "A cheerful topic for an afternoon stroll!"
For a long while George did not answer. Then, almost in a whisper, he repeated, "How could you do it?"
"Some one did it to me first," was the response. "A man!"
"Yes," said George, "but he didn"t know."
"How can you tell whether he knew or not?"