"When I came to myself I found my two little boys beside me weeping."
"And your daughter?"
"Gone!" cried the poor mother, sobbing convulsively; "yes, gone! My other children told me that their father had struck her, threatening to take what life I had remaining on the spot. Then, what could you expect? the poor child was bewildered; she threw herself upon me for a last embrace, kissed her little brothers, and then my husband carried her off! Ah! that bad woman waited for them at the door, I am sure!"
"And could you not complain to the police?"
"At first I could think of nothing but Catharine"s departure, but I soon felt great pains all over my body, I could not walk. Alas! what I had so much dreaded arrived. Yes--I had said to my brother, "Some day my husband will beat me so hard--so hard, that I shall be obliged to go to a hospital.
Then, my children, what will become of them?" And now here I am, at the hospital, and I say, What will become of my children?"
"But is there not any justice, then, my G.o.d! for the poor?"
"Too dear! too dear for us, as my brother said," answered Jeanne Duport, with bitterness. "My neighbors went to seek the police, they came: it was painful for me to denounce Duport, but on account of my daughter it was necessary. I said only that, in a quarrel I had with him about taking away my daughter, he had pushed me; that it was nothing, but that I wanted my daughter back again."
"And what did he reply?"
"That my husband had a right to take away his child, not being separated from me. "You have only one way," said the officer to me: "commence a civil suit, demand a separation of body, and then the blows which your husband has given you, his conduct with this vile woman, will be in your favor, and they will force him to deliver up your daughter; otherwise, he can keep her in his own right." "But to commence a suit! I have not the means! I have my children to feed." "What can I do?" said he; "so it is." Yes," repeated Jeanne, sobbing, "he was right; so it is; and because that so it is, in three months, perhaps, my daughter will be a street-walker! while, if I had had the means to commence a suit, it would not have happened."
"But that will never happen, your daughter must love you so much."
"But she is so young! At that age, fear, bad treatment, bad counsels, bad examples! Poor Catharine! so gentle, so loving! and I, who only this year wished her to renew her first communion!"
"Oh! you have much sorrow. And I complained of mine!" said Lorraine, wiping her eyes. "And your other children?"
"On their account I did what I could to keep out of the hospital. I was obliged to give up. I vomit blood three or four times a day; I have a fever which prostrates me; I am unable to work. At least, by being cured quickly, I can return to my children, if, before this, they are not dead with hunger or imprisoned as beggars. I here--who will they have to take care of them, and feed them?"
"Oh! this is terrible! You have no good neighbors, then?"
"They are as poor as I am, and they have five children of their own; thus two children more is a heavy burden; however, they have promised me to feed them a little, during eight days. It is all they can do; it is taking from them bread, of which they themselves have none too much; so I must be cured in eight days; oh yes! cured or not, I shall go out, all the same."
"But why have you not thought of this good Miss Rigolette, whom you met in prison? She would surely have taken care of them."
"I did think of her; and, although the dear little soul has, perhaps, as much as she can do to get along, I sent her word by a neighbor of my troubles. Unfortunately, she is in the country, where she is going to be married; so the porter of the house said."
"Thus, in eight days, your poor children--but no, your neighbors will not have the heart to send them away."
"But what would you have them to do? They do not eat now as much as they want, and they are obliged to take it out of the mouths of their own to give it to mine. No, no--do you see, I must be cured in eight days. I have already demanded it from all the doctors I have seen since yesterday, but they answered me, laughing, "You must address yourself to the chief physician for that." When will he come, La Lorraine?"
"Chut! I think he is there. We must not talk while he is making his visit,"
answered La Lorraine.
During the conversation of the two women the day commenced to dawn. A confused movement announced the arrival of Dr. Griffon, who soon entered the hall, accompanied by his friend the Count de Saint Remy, who, having a deep interest in Madame de Fermont and her daughter, was far from expecting to find the latter unfortunate girl in the hospital. As he came into the ward, the cold and stern features of Dr. Griffon seemed to light up with a glow of satisfaction. Casting around him a look of complacency and authority, he answered with a patronizing bend of the head the eager greetings of the sisters. The rough and austere physiognomy of the Count de Saint Remy was stamped with deep sadness. The fruitlessness of his attempts to discover traces of Madame de Fermont, the ignominious conduct of his son, who had preferred an infamous life to death, crushed him to the ground with sorrow.
"Well!" said Dr. Griffon to the count with a triumphant air, "what do you think of my hospital?"
"In truth," answered Saint Remy, "I do not know why I have yielded to your desire; nothing is more heart-rending than the aspect of these wards filled with sick. Since my entrance here my feelings quite overcome me."
"Bah! bah! in fifteen minutes you will think no more about it; you, who are a philosopher, will find ample matter for observation: and then it would have been a shame that you, one of my oldest friends, should not visit the theater of my labors--of my glory, that you should not see me at my work.
All my pride is in my profession; is it wrong?"
"No, certainly not; and after your excellent care of Fleur-de-Marie, whom you have saved, I could refuse you nothing. Poor child! what touching charms her features have preserved, notwithstanding her dangerous illness!"
"She has furnished me with a very curious medical fact; I am enchanted with her! By the bye, how has she pa.s.sed this night? Did you see her this morning before you left Asnieres?"
"No, but La Louve, who nurses her with unceasing a.s.siduity, told me that she had slept perfectly well. Can we allow her to write today?"
After a moment"s hesitation, the doctor answered, "Yes. As long as the subject was not completely convalescent, I feared the slightest emotion for her, the slightest application of mind; but now I do not see that any inconvenience can arise from her writing."
"At least she could inform her friends."
"Doubtless. Have you heard nothing more concerning the fate of Madame de Fermont and her daughter?"
"Nothing," said Saint Remy, sighing. "My constant researches have no success. I have no more hope but in Lady d"Harville, who, as I am told, also takes a lively interest in these unfortunates; perhaps she may have some information which might lead to her discovery. Three days ago I went to her residence; she was expected to arrive every moment. I have written to her on this subject, begging her to answer me as soon as possible."
During the conversation of Saint Remy and Dr. Griffon, several persons had slowly a.s.sembled around a large table occupying the middle of the hall; on this table was a register, where the students attached to the hospital, who might be recognized by their long white ap.r.o.ns, came in turn to sign their names as being present; a large number of young students arrived successively to swell the scientific retinue of Dr. Griffon, who, arriving a few moments in advance of his usual hour, waited until it struck.
"You see, my dear Saint Remy, that my staff is quite considerable," said Dr. Griffon, with pride, pointing to the crowd who came to attend to his practical instruction.
"And these young men follow you to the bed of each patient?"
"They only come for that."
"But all these beds are occupied by women."
"Well?"
"The presence of so many men must cause them much painful confusion?"
"Tush, a patient has no s.e.x."
"In your eyes, perhaps; but in their own--modesty, shame."
"All these fine things must be left at the door, my dear Alceste; here we commence on the living experiments and studies which we finish in the dissecting room on the corpse."
"Hold, doctor; you are the best and the most honest of men; I owe you my life; I recognize your excellent qualities; but habit and the love of your profession make you view certain questions in a manner that is revolting to me. I leave you," said Saint Remy, turning to leave the hall.
"What childishness!" cried the doctor, detaining him.
"No, no--there are some things which wound me and make me indignant; I foresee that it will be torture for me to accompany you. I will not go, but I will await you here, near this table."
"What a man you are with your scruples! But I will not let you off. I admit it may be unpleasant for you to go from bed to bed; remain, then, there; I will call you for two or three cases which are very curious."
"Very well; since you are so very urgent, that will be enough, and more than enough."
The clock struck half-past seven.
"Come, gentlemen," said Dr. Griffon, and he commenced his visits, followed by a numerous train.
On arriving at the first bed of the range of the night, of which the curtains were closed, the sister said to the doctor,