Part 30

"Yes, I have been suffering greatly since yesterday."

"You must take care of yourself and not go out."

"Oh! that would be impossible!"

"Leave your key outside, monsieur; I'll come up to-night to see if you want anything."

Auguste thanked the woman, crawled back to his garret with much difficulty, and threw himself on his bed once more.

The concierge, like all of her class, loved to talk, and very soon all the lodgers who stopped at her lodge knew that there was on the sixth floor a young man with a very distinguished bearing who was probably going to have inflammation of the lungs.

Among the persons who stopped to chat with the concierge was the singer who lived below the sick man. This singer was no other than Virginie, who had not succeeded in making a fortune by riotous living. Dissipation soon banishes the hues of health, late hours circle the eyes, fatigue of all sorts impairs beauty, and beauty was almost the sole possession of Virginie, who, with three years added to her age, had fewer lovers than of yore. All this was the reason why she was living in the Marais, in a very modest fifth floor apartment; that she often passed her evenings in working, because she no longer had some pleasure party for every evening; and lastly, that she sang over her work, because she had retained her voice and her cheerfulness.

Virginie had a kind heart, she had never sinned except through excess of sensibility. There are women who have no sensibility except where pleasure is concerned, but Virginie was still capable of sympathy with the unfortunate. On learning that there was a young man above her who was alone and ill, Virginie asked the concierge:

"Have you been up to see if he wanted anything?"

"I haven't been yet because I've got to watch my stew; but I'll go up to-night."

"Well! you are a good one! Suppose the man gets sicker before then? I'll go myself. I'm only sorry I didn't know it sooner, for I sang all last evening, and when a person is feverish he don't like trills; but I was in good voice! I could have sung _Armide!_ I'm going up to see my neighbor. He's young, you say?"

"Why, yes--twenty-nine or thereabouts."

"Poor boy! perhaps he's lovesick. But no, men never lose their health for love. I'm curious to see him; if he was old, I'd go all the same; but a young man is always more alluring."

Virginie went upstairs, and kept on to the sixth, passing her own door without stopping. The key was on the outside of Auguste's door.

"When a man lives in this hole," thought Virginie, "he don't eat green peas in January." And she tapped softly on the door, saying aloud: "It's your neighbor from downstairs, monsieur, come to ask if you want anything."

There was no reply, so she decided to open the door noiselessly. She entered the hovel, in comparison with which her room was a palace. She went to the bed on which lay the sick man, whose fever had increased, and who no longer had the strength to open his eyes. She leaned over him and gave a little shriek when she recognized Auguste.

That shriek caused the invalid to open his eyes; he tried to give Virginie his hand, while she threw herself upon him, kissed him again and again, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and the next moment drenched his face with her tears, crying:

"It is you, Auguste! it is really you! O mon Dieu! in this garret! on this wretched bed! My poor dear! sick, alone--and I didn't know it! Poor Auguste! and I sang last night while he was groaning here! Oh! I feel as if I should choke! I can't say any more."

But at last Virginie realized that her tears and kisses were no longer sufficient for the invalid, who motioned that he was consumed by thirst.

"Wait--wait, my dear," she said, "I'll give you--Great God! there's nothing here but water! Why, that's no good--it increases the fever. I'll go--the doctor must come right away; I'll go and fetch him. I'm going. Don't be impatient, my friend; I won't be long; and after this you won't be alone any more; I shan't leave you again!"

Virginie ran to the door, returned to the bed, pulled the clothes over the sick man, arranged his head, then ran downstairs four at a time, and arrived at the concierge's door all out of breath, saying:

"A doctor! where's there a doctor?"

"Why, there's several in the quarter. Is the gentleman sicker?"

"His address--quick!"

"A doctor's address? There's one on this street--yonder, next to the fruit store; then there's the one that bled me; but----"

Virginie was no longer listening; she was already at the door the concierge had pointed out. She ran up to the doctor's room and begged him to come instantly to see a sick man, in the tone that only women can assume when the object of their affection is involved. The doctor made no reply but took his hat, which was much better, and followed Virginie, who led the way to Auguste's garret. He ascended the six flights almost as quickly as she did, and when he entered the room apparently saw nothing but the invalid. All honor to the men who devote their lives to relieving the ills of mankind, and who show the same zeal for the poor as for the rich. Their number is large, and although Molière did poke fun at the doctors, doubtless he would be the first to do them justice to-day.

Virginie gazed anxiously at the doctor's face while he was feeling the invalid's pulse. His eyes gave no favorable indication; while Auguste, heedless of everything that was going on about him, seemed neither to see nor to hear anything.

"Well, monsieur?" queried Virginie at last.

"The young man is in bad shape; he has a high fever and there is every reason to expect that it will increase; however, with extreme care, I hope we shall save him."

"Oh, monsieur, don't neglect anything, I beg you!"

"But he is very badly off here; the room is so small, there is so little air, and the sun beats down so fiercely on the roofs, and makes these garrets burning hot; this is a very unhealthy place."

"Oh! he shall leave this garret this very day; he shall live in my room as long as he's sick. It's right below here; he'll be much more comfortable there, for it's a good size, at least--one can turn round in it. He'd have been there before this if I could have carried him alone. If you would be kind enough to help me, monsieur, it would soon be done!"

"Let's try it, mademoiselle."

And the doctor went to the bed and lifted the only mattress that there was on the straw; Virginie did the same on the other side, and thus they carried Auguste to the floor below and laid him upon the only bed in the room.

"Where will you sleep, mademoiselle?" queried the doctor.

"Oh! that don't worry me, monsieur. I'll bring down the straw bed from upstairs; indeed, I shan't feel like sleeping as long as he's sick."

The doctor looked at her again, then wrote a prescription and took his leave, promising to come again early the next morning.

When Virginie was alone, she looked at the prescription and tried to read it.

"Bless my soul!" she muttered, "how badly these doctors write! like cats. 'Syrup of--infusion of'--No matter, the druggist will understand; this much is clear, that here's syrups and infusions--consequently, money. Poor Auguste! I'm quite sure he hasn't any. And I haven't much more. But never mind--I have got to find some. He gave me enough when he was rich. I must go at once and get whatever he needs."

Virginie took her purse and went out to buy what was required for the draught the doctor had ordered. She did not amuse herself by babbling with the concierge, but made haste back to her room to nurse the sick man. His fever had changed to delirium; he did not know her, and he seemed to be much worse. Virginie nursed him with redoubled zeal. She succeeded, not without difficulty, in making him take the potion prescribed for him. She did not take one moment's rest during the night; she was constantly beside the sick-bed, leaving it only to return to her work. Her work was making linen garments, for since her opportunities for pleasure had fallen off, she had realized that in order to live something more was required than fine eyes and a fetching smile. This work brought her but little money; but she redoubled her efforts when she had Auguste to care for.

While she worked, Virginie kept her eyes on the invalid.

"Poor boy!" she would say to herself; "his travels evidently didn't bring him luck. But how does it happen that good old Bertrand isn't with him? He must be dead, not to be with Auguste. He was a true friend, he was! not like those popinjays who swindled him! And Denise, who loved him so dearly! If she knew he was in this condition! Suppose I should write to her? But no, that might make Auguste angry; perhaps he's seen her again, and they've had a row; one can never tell! I must cure him first; then he will tell me all his adventures."

The doctor came the next day, as he had promised; he was unable as yet to give a definite opinion, but he agreed to come again in the evening, and told Virginie to follow the same treatment.

For three days Auguste was very ill. The doctor was not sparing of his visits, and Virginie followed all his prescriptions to the letter. But in the afternoon of the third day she found nothing in her purse, and she had no work ready to carry back. She needed money, however, for a thousand things that her patient must have. Virginie was not at a loss; she took off her bracelets and earrings, the sole relics of the days of her early prosperity, and sold them to a jeweller as gayly as if she were going to a party.

The doctor's treatment and Virginie's nursing were not thrown away. On the fourth day Auguste was better; he was no longer delirious and was surprised to find himself in a room which he did not recognize. He pressed Virginie's hand and would have spoken; but the doctor had prescribed perfect rest, so Virginie said to him:

"Hush! wait till you're better before you talk; meanwhile, don't worry about anything; you're in my room, and I'll take care of you as well as if you had a dozen black servants. All that I ask you is to drink your medicine like a good boy, and think of nothing but rose-bushes. When you are getting better, I'll sing as much as you want me to; I'll even go so far as to dance, if that will amuse you, so as to bring back your spirits."

Auguste smiled and held his peace. He continued to improve, but his convalescence bade fair to be very long; and as a sick man always requires innumerable things, the jewelry money was soon expended. Thereupon, while Auguste was asleep, Virginie looked over her wardrobe to see what she had that she could do without. In reality it contained nothing that was not strictly necessary, but she succeeded in finding several things of which she made a bundle, saying to herself:

"This will rid me of a lot of old stuff that I am sick to death of."

And the bundle went to join the jewels.

When Auguste had recovered a little strength, he was able to tell Virginie the story of his adventures. When she learned that Bertrand had voluntarily left his master, she dropped a glass of medicine that she was about to hand to Auguste, and exclaimed:

"My arms have gone back on me! That Bertrand, whom I always thought worthy of being embalmed! whom I looked upon as a faithful dog in his attachment to you! You can't trust a man! My friend, the English beer must have changed all his feelings!"

But when Auguste told her of his stay at Denise's cottage, Virginie interrupted him to describe the peasant girl's grief and despair when she learned of his departure--in short, all her love for him.

"Is it possible?" said Auguste; "she really loves me? Then she did not deceive me! it wasn't pity that made her offer me her hand!"

"Does she love you! She adores you, monsieur. The poor child made me feel so sad. She cried so! But you men are unique! when a woman loves you, you're surprised, and when she doesn't love you, you're surprised too."

"Oh! how happy you make me, Virginie!"

"In that case, get well right away, and go and console poor Denise."

"Oh no! I shall not go there."

"What's that? you won't go? You know that she loves you, that she is in despair at your absence, and you won't go back to her?"

"I am destitute--I can't accept her hand."

"My dear friend, that's a piece of delicacy that I can't understand. When a person loves us, what's theirs is ours; and if a prince should fall in love with me, although I haven't any more money than you have, I shouldn't hesitate a moment about marrying him."

Auguste held his peace, and Virginie said nothing further on a subject that seemed to distress him. To restore the sick man's strength, he was given no more infusions to drink; old wine and rich soups were prescribed by the doctor, and Virginie, who searched her drawers in a vain endeavor to make money, decided to sell a shawl which was her most beautiful possession, and which she almost never laid aside.

But Auguste saw how much he was costing Virginie, and his distress on that account retarded his convalescence. He watched her as she worked incessantly, often passing a large part of the night at her sewing, and he sighed, as he said to himself:

"She is killing herself for me! and I shall never be able to requite all her care of me!"

When Virginie returned after procuring a sum of money by means of her remaining resource, Auguste noticed that she was without the shawl she usually wore.

"Where have you been, Virginie?" he asked in a feeble voice.

"For a little walk, to take the air. I saw that you were asleep and didn't need me."

"Why aren't you wearing your shawl?"

"My shawl? Why, I didn't put it on because it's too warm."

"You had it on when you went out."

"Did I?--Well, the truth is that I've lent it to a friend of mine who's going to a party to-night; but she'll give it back."

"You are deceiving me, Virginie."

"No, monsieur, I am not deceiving you."

"I am costing you a great deal; and you deprive yourself of everything in order to take care of me, so that I may lack nothing! You are stripping yourself clean for me!"

"What are you talking about, Monsieur Auguste? I deprive myself of everything! Let me tell you, monsieur, that I deprive myself of nothing. Who told you that I am not well fixed, that I haven't money put by?"

"And you work a great part of the night!"

"I work because it amuses me, and because I don't care to sleep. The fact is that I have all I want; I had a hoard; I am certainly at liberty to spend it as I please.--The idea of telling me that he is a burden to me! How shameful of him! I, whom he has been kind to so many times! And he is angry because I am taking care of him!--Monsieur would prefer that somebody else should do it, perhaps. If you give me any more nonsense like that, I'll throw the stew out of the window. As for my shawl, it's true that I haven't got it now; but I didn't like it. In the first place, the color isn't in fashion any longer; and then I don't want a flower pattern--it's bad form."

Auguste said no more; he simply sighed as he took Virginie's hands in his; and she pretended to be more lighthearted than ever, and sang all day to prove that she did not regret her shawl.

The doctor came to see his patient; he found him much better, and complimented Virginie on her nursing. She, although she had no idea how she was going to pay him, asked him to tell her how much she owed him. But the doctor replied that he never charged anything when he went higher than the fourth floor; and he ran away from the thanks of Auguste and Virginie, enjoining anew upon the convalescent to be careful and to wait until his strength had returned before going out.

"There's a mighty fine man!" cried Virginie, looking after the doctor. "He isn't handsome; certainly no one can say he's handsome; in fact, one eye's smaller than the other. But for all that he's been a little Cupid in my eyes ever since I saw what zeal he showed in his care of you."

Auguste smiled; Virginie's remarks often made his eyes sparkle; but when he thought of his plight, his brow darkened and he sighed, despite all the efforts of his nurse, who said to him constantly:

"You didn't use to sigh like that when you made love to me."

Auguste was anxious to get up and go out, but he was not strong enough; and yet Virginie gave him everything that the doctor ordered. But his convalescence seemed certain to be very slow, and although she told Auguste every day that he must not worry, that she had money enough to last a long while, Virginie discovered one morning that she had nothing left of the proceeds of the sale of her shawl.

But the doctor, who had called on the evening before, had said that Auguste could eat chicken, and Virginie, after searching her boxes, her drawers and her purse, where she found nothing, muttered under her breath:

"It's no use for me to look; there's nothing to raise money on--not even enough to buy a lark; and my work won't be done till day after to-morrow! No matter! if I have to put myself in pawn, he shall eat chicken to-day!"

And Virginie put on her cap and the little neckerchief which had replaced her shawl; then, leaving Auguste still asleep, she stole softly from her room, saying to herself:

"I won't come back without a chicken."

XXIX

WHAT WAS TO BE EXPECTED.--RETURN TO THE VILLAGE

Virginie walked along the street, with no very clear idea as to where she was going; she cudgelled her brains to think of somebody who might accommodate her, but the memory is often in default when one asks it the name of a true friend. If Cézarine had been in Paris, Virginie would not have hesitated to call on her, because she knew her kindness of heart; but Cézarine was then on the track of her Théodore, who had left the capital, and her Théodore was likely to lead her a long way.

Virginie's other acquaintances offered too unpromising a prospect; there were several to whom she would not have dreamed of applying. However, the result of her reflections was always the same:--"I must have a chicken for Auguste, and I will have one. I don't know just how I shall do it; but whenever I've taken it into my head to do a thing, I've always succeeded in doing it, and it's often been a question of things much more interesting than a chicken; it would be a deuce of a go, if I couldn't acquit myself creditably in the matter of a little chicken!"

And Virginie stopped in front of poultry shops and cookshops; she walked back and forth, cudgelling her brains to no purpose; she found no money, and she heaved a sigh as she gazed at the delicacies with which she desired to regale the convalescent.

The amusing faces that Virginie made--her decent dress did not indicate want--and the way she glared at the roast chickens, made the passers-by smile now and then, for they saw in the grisette's emotion only an outburst of gluttony; and she, seeing them smile as they looked at her, muttered between her teeth: "The idiots! Suppose they do laugh in my face--what difference does that make to me? Isn't there one of them who will be polite enough to offer me a chicken? Men are getting to be brutes!"

For ten minutes Virginie had been walking back and forth before a cookshop, beside which was the small establishment of a linen-draper. Virginie had not noticed the proprietress, because she had no eyes for anything but the chickens; but through the gloves, ribbons and drygoods in her window, the tradeswoman had noticed Virginie, whose strange behavior was calculated to arouse curiosity. Women have a sentimental instinct which enables them to understand at once what men cannot divine in an hour, or what they cannot divine at all. The young linen-draper saw in Virginie's eyes that it was not gluttony that caused her to stand in contemplation before her neighbor's merchandise. She went out of her shop by the rear door,--her yard and that of the cookshop were the same,--entered the cookshop, purchased a fine, fat chicken, wrapped it in two thicknesses of paper, and returned to her own shop by the same road. Then she stood in her doorway and looked at Virginie, not knowing how to proffer her gift. For some time Virginie paid no heed to the young woman; but the latter gazed at her with such a meaning expression, and seemed so anxious to speak to her, that Virginie walked toward the shop-door.

The young tradeswoman at once said to her, in a low tone and blushing hotly:

"Madame, you have forgotten your purse, haven't you? If you would allow me to offer you----"

And as she spoke, she thrust the chicken under Virginie's arm, trembling as if she had done a ridiculous thing; but one often trembles much more when doing a kind deed. Virginie could only squeeze the young woman's hand and say:

"You guessed my plight. Ah! if you knew how happy you have made me! if you knew why--But you will see me again; I will come again to thank you and pay my debt to you."

"Yes, yes, madame," said the young tradeswoman; and she retreated, sorely embarrassed, to the back of her shop, while Virginie, light as a feather, tripped gayly homeward, her chicken under her arm, saying to herself:

"I knew that I'd get one! I never lose hope, I don't!"

However, the chicken had not yet reached Auguste. At a street corner, Virginie, who probably was looking at her feet and nothing else, was roughly jostled by a man who knocked the chicken to the ground.

"You infernal idiot!" cried Virginie, stooping to pick up the chicken. But her voice caught the ears of the man who had jostled her, and who had simply apologized and kept on his way. He stopped, retraced his steps and exclaimed in his turn:

"Why--yes! ten thousand bayonets! it's Mamzelle Virginie! Morbleu! perhaps she'll be able to tell me something about him."

"Hallo! it's Bertrand!" said Virginie, as she recognized the ex-corporal; "it's good old Ber--But what am I saying! he's a villain, an ungrateful, hardhearted wretch, and I don't like him any more. Let me carry my chicken--don't hold me, monsieur."

"Whether you like me or not, mademoiselle, isn't the question just at this moment. One word, if you please: have you seen him, do you know where he is, what's become of him?"

"Of whom?"

"Morbleu! my lieutenant, Monsieur Auguste."

"On my word! do I know where he is? What a question! when he's been living in my room a fortnight!"

"He's in your room?--I have found him! I shall see him again!"

In his joy, Bertrand embraced Virginie and once more knocked the hapless chicken to the ground. This time it fell into the gutter and Virginie was ready to weep.

"Won't you please let me alone!" she cried; "this chicken's for Auguste; and after I've had so much trouble to get it, you'll be the cause of his not being able to eat it!"

"Oh! don't cry! I'll buy you more chickens--ten--twenty--an ox, if you choose! But, for the love of God, take me to my lieutenant straight away. I am in haste to embrace him!"

"What! then you still care for him?"

"Care for him! Who can ever have doubted my attachment, my devotion to his person?"

"Then you didn't abandon him in England on purpose?"

"Abandon him! when it was in his service--for his welfare----"

"Oh! dear old Bertrand! I was perfectly sure he was a good fellow. Come, my little Bertrand, let's go to Auguste. My! but he'll be glad when he knows that you are still worthy of his affection!"

Virginie and Bertrand walked toward Rue de Berry. On the way, Virginie told the old servant of all the disasters that had befallen Auguste, and of the serious illness that he had had. As he listened to these details, Bertrand wiped his eyes now and then and exclaimed:

"Sacrebleu! why didn't I find him sooner? But I only returned to Paris the day before yesterday; and I intended to go to Montfermeil to-morrow to look for him, hoping to be luckier there than in this city, where Schtrack and I have been scouring every quarter for two days, without success."