I drank the potion; then Pettermann picked up the watch and put it to his ear, saying:
"It was your watch that I dropped on the floor, monsieur; but it hasn"t even stopped. It"s like you, the spring is strong."
He sat down and continued:
"For five days now you"ve been there in bed, and in that time fever and delirium have been playing a fine game with you! Your brain galloped like the infernal horse that knocked you down. We tried in vain to calm you; you called me Eugenie, you talked about nothing but Eugenie.
Sometimes you adored her, and the next minute you cursed her; so that the concierge, who is a bit of a gossip, said that some woman named Eugenie must have been playing tricks on you; and I replied: "You must see that monsieur is delirious, and consequently he doesn"t know what he is saying." In short, I don"t know whether I did right, monsieur, but seeing you in that condition, and no one with you to nurse you, I stationed myself here and I haven"t budged. The concierge undertook to object, he wanted his niece, who is nine years old, to nurse you; but prout! I didn"t listen to him, and I said: "I was the one who brought monsieur home wounded, and I won"t leave him until he"s cured." If I did wrong, I ask your pardon, and I will go away."
I offered my hand to Pettermann again.
"Far from doing wrong, my friend, it is I who am deeply indebted to you."
"Not at all, monsieur, I owe you forty francs. But as soon as you get your cloth----"
"Let"s not talk about that."
"All right; besides, you mustn"t talk much, that"s another of the doctor"s orders."
"Has anyone been to see me?"
"Not a cat has entered the room except the doctor and the concierge."
Ernest and his wife could know nothing of my accident; otherwise I was sure that they would have come to take care of me. So henceforth I could have only strangers about me. Ah! if my mother had known--but I was very glad that she had not been informed of the accident, which would have frightened her. There were many other things too which she did not know and which I would have been glad to conceal from her forever.
I tried to rest, but Eugenie"s image often disturbed my sleep.
It was she who was the cause of my being in that bed. It was impossible that she should not have recognized me, for her horse pa.s.sed close to me; and she did not return! Had she heard the commotion caused by my accident? That I did not know. While I shunned society as if I were guilty, Eugenie was indulging in all forms of pleasure. She, who used to mount a horse only in fear and trepidation, and to ride very quietly, now rode through the Bois de Boulogne at a fast gallop and displayed the rash courage of an experienced horseman! It still seemed to me that I was dreaming, that I was delirious. Since the Eugenie of the old days no longer existed, it seemed to me I must forget the new one, I must think no more of the woman who had wrecked my life.
I believed that, if I could embrace my little Henriette, I should be entirely cured at once. I determined to go to see her before leaving Paris, and to take her in my arms without her mother"s knowledge; and even if her mother should know it, had I not the right to kiss my daughter? I would be patient until then.
The doctor came again to see me. He was a man whom I did not know; he seemed abrupt and cold; he talked little, but he neither made a show of his knowledge nor used long words to his patients. I like doctors of that sort.
After a few days I was much better, and I began to recover my strength.
Pettermann was still in my room; he had told me to dismiss him as soon as he annoyed me, and I had kept him. I had become accustomed to his services and attentions. I could not doubt his attachment, for he had given me proofs of it. One especially convincing proof was that he had not drunk too much a single time since he had const.i.tuted himself my nurse. It was not selfish interest that guided him, for by refusing my purse when I went up to his room he had proved that he did not care for money. I had noticed also that he was neither prying nor talkative.
I indulged in all these reflections one evening as I lay upon a couch.
Pettermann was seated by the window; he said nothing, for he never tried to converse when I did not speak to him. Sometimes we pa.s.sed several hours in succession without a word; that was another quality which I liked in him.
"Pettermann."
"Monsieur."
"Are you very much attached to your tailor"s trade?"
"Faith, monsieur, I have had so little work lately that I shall end by forgetting my trade. And then, I may as well admit that I have never been able to distinguish myself at it, and I am sick of it!"
"As soon as I have fully recovered my strength, I propose to leave Paris and travel, for a very long time perhaps. If I should suggest to you to go with me, to remain with me, not as a servant, but as a confidential friend and trusted companion, how would that suit you?"
"Suit me! prout! that would suit me completely, monsieur. I will be your groom, your valet, whatever you choose; for I am sure that you will never treat me in a way to humiliate me."
"Of course not. But, Pettermann, you have one failing----"
"I know what you mean; I get drunk. That is true; but it never happened to me except when I had nothing to do. You will keep me busy, and that will correct my habit of drinking. However, I don"t mean to swear to give up wine entirely, for I should break my oath. If you take me with you, you must allow me to get drunk once a month. I ask only that."
"Once a month, all right; but no more!"
"No, monsieur."
"It"s a bargain! You will stay with me. You have nothing to keep you in Paris?"
"Bless my soul, no, monsieur; I have nothing but my wife."
"We start in a few days; but I warn you that I intend to travel like an artist, sometimes on foot, sometimes in a carriage; to defy the rain and the sun when that is my pleasure."
"Monsieur is joking. I am not a dainty woman; I will do whatever you do."
"One word more: do you know my name?"
"I have heard the concierge mention it once; I don"t remember it, but----"
"Don"t try to remember it. I mean to a.s.sume another under which I intend to travel. I shall call myself after this, Dalbreuse, and I do not wish to be called anything else."
"That is enough, monsieur; you understand that I will call you whatever you please. So I have a profession at last. I have no further need to try to get waistcoats and breeches to make! The deuce take sewing! And then too I am very glad not to have to leave monsieur."
Pettermann"s delight pleased me. I was very glad to have someone in my service who had not known me during my married life.
On the day following this agreement, Ernest entered my room, ran to me and embraced me.
"Do you know that I have been near death?" I asked him.
"I have just learned it from your concierge. Ungrateful man! not to send us any word! Is that the way that a man should treat his friends?"
"My dear Ernest, when I was in condition to send you word, I was out of danger; then I preferred to wait until I was entirely well, in order that I might come and tell you myself."
"But what was this accident that happened to you?"
I told Ernest the whole story; I did not conceal from him that I was knocked down because I had gazed too long after Eugenie. Ernest was indignant at my weakness, and he started to scold me.
"My friend," I said, "you will have no further cause for such reproaches; to prove it, I refuse from this instant to hear my wife mentioned. You will promise never to mention her name again, will you not?"
"Oh! I shall not be the one to break that promise!"
"Besides, I am going to leave you, for a long time perhaps. I am going to travel."
"Despite my grief at being separated from you, I can only approve this plan. Change of scene will do you good. But are you going alone?"
"No, I have found a faithful companion; that man who left the room when you came in. You did not recognize him, did you? It is that poor journeyman tailor who lived in the attic room near your dear Marguerite, and who used to get into his room by breaking the window."
"Is it possible? And that man----"