The Widow Lerouge Part 19

"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 gla.s.ses. 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, gla.s.sy, 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-in-law 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; to-morrow, 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 I have chosen a pearl. I know her well."

"It was you, then, who brought this nun?"

"Yes, and without your permission. Are you displeased?"

"Not the least in the world. Only I confess-"

"What! you make a grimace. Do your political opinions forbid your having your mother, I should say Madame Gerdy, nursed by a nun of St. Vincent?"

"My dear Herve, you-"

"Ah! I know what you are going to say. They are adroit, insinuating, dangerous, all that is quite true. If I had a rich old uncle whose heir I expected to be, I shouldn't introduce one of them into his house. These good creatures are sometimes charged with strange commissions. But, what have you to fear from this one? Never mind what fools say. Money aside, these worthy sisters are the best nurses in the world. I hope you will have one when your end comes. But good-bye; I am in a hurry."

And, regardless of his professional dignity, the doctor hurried down the stairs; while Noel, full of thought, his countenance displaying the greatest anxiety, returned to Madame Gerdy.

At the door of the sick-room, the nun awaited the advocate's return.

"Sir," said she, "sir."

"You want something of me, sister?"

"Sir, the servant bade me come to you for money; she has no more, and had to get credit at the chemist's."

"Excuse me, sister," interrupted Noel, seemingly very much vexed; "excuse me for not having antic.i.p.ated your request; but you see I am rather confused."

And, taking a hundred-franc note out of his pocket-book, he laid it on the mantel piece.

"Thanks, sir," said the nun; "I will keep an account of what I spend. We always do that," she added; "it is more convenient for the family. One is so troubled at seeing those one loves laid low by illness. You have perhaps not thought of giving this poor lady the sweet aid of our holy religion! In your place, sir, I should send without delay for a priest,-"

"What, now, sister? Do you not see the condition she is in? She is the same as dead; you saw that she did not hear my voice."

"That is of little consequence, sir," replied the nun; "you will always have done your duty. She did not answer you; but are you sure that she will not answer the priest? Ah, you do not know all the power of the last sacraments! I have seen the dying recover their intelligence and sufficient strength to confess, and to receive the sacred body of our Lord Jesus Christ. I have often heard families say that they do not wish to alarm the invalid, that the sight of the minister of our Lord might inspire a terror that would hasten the final end. It is a fatal error. The priest does not terrify; he rea.s.sures the soul, at the beginning of its long journey. He speaks in the name of the G.o.d of mercy, who comes to save, not to destroy. I could cite to you many cases of dying people who have been cured simply by contact with the sacred balm."

The nun spoke in a tone as mournful as her look. Her heart was evidently not in the words which she uttered. Without doubt, she had learned them when she first entered the convent. Then they expressed something she really felt, she spoke her own thoughts; but, since then, she had repeated the words over and over again to the friends of every sick person that she attended, until they lost all meaning so far as she was concerned. To utter them became simply a part of her duties as nurse, the same as the preparation of draughts, and the making of poultices.

Noel was not listening to her; his thoughts were far away.

"Your dear mother," continued the nun, "this good lady that you love so much, no doubt trusted in her religion. Do you wish to endanger her salvation? If she could speak in the midst of her cruel sufferings-"

The advocate was on the point of replying, when the servant announced that a gentleman, who would not give his name, wished to speak with him on business.

"I will come," he said quickly.

"What do you decide, sir?" persisted the nun.

"I leave you free, sister, to do as you may judge best."

The worthy woman began to recite her lesson of thanks, but to no purpose. Noel had disappeared with a displeased look; and almost immediately she heard his voice in the next room, saying: "At last you have come, M. Clergeot, I had almost given you up!"

The visitor, whom the advocate had been expecting, is a person well known in the Rue St. Lazare, round about the Rue de Provence, the neighbourhood of Notre Dame de Lorette, and all along the exterior Boulevards, from the Chaussee des Martyrs to the Rond-Point of the old Barriere de Clichy.

M. Clergeot is no more a usurer than M. Jourdin's father was a shopkeeper. Only, as he has lots of money, and is very obliging, he lends it to his friends; and, in return for this kindness, he consents to receive interest, which varies from fifteen to five hundred per cent.

The excellent man positively loves his clients, and his honesty is generally appreciated. He has never been known to seize a debtor's goods; he prefers to follow him up without respite for ten years, and tear from him bit by bit what is his due.

He lives near the top of the Rue de la Victoire. He has no shop, and yet he sells everything saleable, and some other things, too, that the law scarcely considers merchandise. Anything to be useful or neighbourly. He often a.s.serts that he is not very rich. It is possibly true. He is whimsical more than covetous, and fearfully bold. Free with his money when one pleases him, he would not lend five francs, even with a mortgage on the Chateau of Ferrieres as guarantee, to whosoever does not meet with his approval. However, he often risks his all on the most unlucky cards.

His preferred customers consist of women of doubtful morality, actresses, artists, and those venturesome fellows who enter upon professions which depend solely upon those who practice them, such as lawyers and doctors.

He lends to women upon their present beauty, to men upon their future talent. Slight pledges! His discernment, it should be said, however, enjoys a great reputation. It is rarely at fault. A pretty girl furnished by Clergeot is sure to go far. For an artist to be in Clergeot's debt was a recommendation preferable to the warmest criticism.

Madame Juliette had procured this useful and honourable acquaintance for her lover.

Noel, who well knew how sensitive this worthy man was to kind attentions, and how pleased by politeness, began by offering him a seat, and asking after his health. Clergeot went into details. His teeth were still good; but his sight was beginning to fail. His legs were no longer so steady, and his hearing was not all that could be desired. The chapter of complaints ended-"You know," said he, "why I have called. Your bills fall due to-day; and I am devilishly in need of money. I have one of ten, one of seven, and a third of five thousand francs, total, twenty-two thousand francs."

"Come, M. Clergeot," replied Noel, "do not let us have any joking."

"Excuse me," said the usurer; "I am not joking at all."

"I rather think you are though. Why, it's just eight days ago to-day that I wrote to tell you that I was not prepared to meet the bills, and asked for a renewal!"

"I recollect very well receiving your letter."

"What do you say to it, then?"

"By my not answering the note, I supposed that you would understand that I could not comply with your request; I hoped that you would exert yourself to find the amount for me."

Noel allowed a gesture of impatience to escape him.

"I have not done so," he said; "so take your own course. I haven't a sou."

"The devil. Do you know that I have renewed these bills four times already?"

"I know that the interest has been fully and promptly paid, and at a rate which cannot make you regret the investment."

Clergeot never likes talking about the interest he received. He pretends that it is humiliating.

"I do not complain; I only say that you take things too easily with me. If I had put your signature in circulation all would have been paid by now."

"Not at all."

"Yes, you would have found means to escape being sued. But you say to yourself: 'Old Clergeot is a good fellow.' And that is true. But I am so only when it can do me no harm. Now, to-day, I am absolutely in great need of my money. Ab-so-lute-ly," he added, emphasising each syllable.

The old fellow's decided tone seemed to disturb the advocate.

"Must I repeat it?" he said; "I am completely drained, com-plete-ly!"

"Indeed?" said the usurer; "well, I am sorry for you; but I shall have to sue you."

"And what good will that do? Let us play above board, M. Clergeot. Do you care to increase the lawyers' fees? You don't do you? Even though, you may put me to great expense, will that procure you even a centime? You will obtain judgment against me. Well, what then? Do you think of putting in an execution? This is not my home; the lease is in Madame Gerdy's name."

"I know all that. Besides, the sale of everything here would not cover the amount."

"Then you intend to put me in prison, at Clichy! Bad speculation, I warn you, my practice will be lost, and, you know, no practice, no money."

"Good!" cried the worthy money-lender. "Now you are talking nonsense! You call that being frank. Pshaw! If you supposed me capable of half the cruel things you have said, my money would be there in your drawer, ready for me."

"A mistake! I should not know where to get it, unless by asking Madame Gerdy, a thing I would never do."

A sarcastic and most irritating little laugh, peculiar to old Clergeot, interrupted Noel.

"It would be no good doing that," said the usurer; "mamma's purse has long been empty; and if the dear creature should die now,-they tell me she is very ill,-I would not give two hundred napoleons for the inheritance."

The advocate turned red with pa.s.sion, his eyes glittered; but he dissembled, and protested with some spirit.

"We know what we know," continued Clergeot quietly. "Before a man risks his money, he takes care to make some inquiries. Mamma's remaining bonds were sold last October. Ah! the Rue de Provence is an expensive place! I have made an estimate, which is at home. Juliette is a charming woman, to be sure; she has not her equal, I am convinced; but she is expensive, devilish expensive."