CHAPTER XV

DR. RICHE MAKES A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY

Dal sonno a la morte è un picciol varco.[10] (_Tasso Gerusalemme Liberata_, ix. 18.)

Perir non lascia chi perir non merita.[11] (_Alfieri Fillipo_, Act iv. Sc. 5.)

"We are of such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is rounded with a sleep."[12]

On entering the adjoining apartment Villebois and Riche ran to the assistance of Renée who was lying on the sofa in a dead faint. Madame Villebois was busy applying the usual restoratives, while Payot in a terrible state of excitement had just rushed out of the room to search for a bottle of brandy. On opening the door he literally fell into the arms of François and the other domestics, who had collected round the door to try and discover what was going on.

"Eavesdropping, Hein!" he cried. "How dare you leave your duties and gossip like this. Be off with you. Here, François, show me at once where you keep the brandy," and seizing him by the arm they ran to the cellar to fetch it.

Meanwhile Céleste, half scared to death, was kneeling beside Renée, chafing her cold bloodless hands, while she looked up through her tears at the other guests who were assembled round the couch, and conversing in excited tones.

Villebois and Riche gently pushed them aside, and taking Renée in their arms, carried her up to bed.

"We can do nothing more to-night," said Villebois, consulting his watch, "see how late it is, and we shall have a heavy day to-morrow."

At length one by one the tired guests departed to their respective rooms.

"Monsieur Payot," said Villebois, "I cannot let you leave to-night. If you don't mind I will make you up a bed in the library."

"Do you mind, colleague," said Riche, "if I sleep in the séance-room."

"My dear Riche, I cannot permit you to sleep in a room with a dead body. Why can't you go to your own room?"

"I am accustomed to be in the presence of death as you know; and my room is all burnt out."

"Oh yes, I forgot that. But won't you have a bed made up here?"

"No, please, doctor, come here a moment," and he drew him aside, "I have my reasons for sleeping in the room with Delapine," and he added something in a whisper.

Villebois opened his eyes widely and nodded.

"Oh! oh! I understand now," he said, looking very alarmed. "Yes, sleep there by all means."

Riche had a bed made up on the floor close by the side of Delapine's body, and turning down the light, got into bed.

In spite of the fact that he was dead tired with the excitement and horror of the recent events, his mind was so distracted that he could not sleep. Although his body was weary, his thoughts became abnormally active, and he kept tossing in bed, and turning over in his mind the strange events he had witnessed.

"Happy Delapine," he said with a sigh, "Death indeed is the only evil that can never touch us. When we are, death is not. When death comes, we are not, Yes, Cicero was right when he said, 'Death is an event either to be entirely disregarded, if it extinguish the soul's existence, or, much to be wished, if it convey it to some region where it shall continue to exist forever.' What then have I to fear, if after death I shall either not be miserable, or shall certainly be happy?"

His thoughts carried him back to the beautiful Greek conception of death with its white marble tomb, and the mourners dressed in pure white, carrying garlands of flowers, and chanting some soul-stirring refrain accompanied by maidens playing on the harp and lute. He compared it with a shudder to the gruesome pictures of the Middle Ages, which he remembered to have seen in the frescoes of Orcagna on the walls of the Campo Santo in Pisa, which depicted the dying souls of the damned thrust into the pit of Hell by devils, or the souls of the saved (!) writhing in the flames of Purgatory, and whose torments could alone be alleviated by donations deposited in the money box by their friends on earth.

The moon's rays shining through the window shed a soft light through the room, and illuminated the wax-like features of the professor.

Once or twice Riche raising himself up in bed thought he saw a faint twitching in Delapine's fingers, but after gazing intently at them he lay down again convinced that he had been deceived.

Strange thoughts flitted through his mind. How very different would have been his life during the past week, he said to himself, had Villebois not met him at the café at the corner of the Boulevard S. Michel. What would he be doing now? Perhaps sleeping in his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, perhaps risking a handful of louis on the green tables of the Casino, but almost certainly not tossing on a bed by the side of a corpse.

The room felt uncanny. He had long been familiar with death in all its forms. He had been surgeon in two campaigns in the north of Africa, and had seen his comrades die like flies around him from dysentery and cholera. He had seen their bodies thrown into pits a hundred at a time, but never had he felt such a feeling of awe and terror steal over him as he felt to-night. He could not account for it. Delapine would not needlessly hurt a fly, and now he was lying in the cold hands of death.

At length he could stand it no longer, and getting up he dressed himself and paced up and down the room.

Again he gazed intently on Delapine's face, and thought he detected a slight movement of the muscles. Was he mistaken? How could it be possible? Delapine was undoubtedly dead, he said to himself. Riche's face broke out into a cold sweat, and he attempted to cry out, but his voice died away in silence. No; he lifted up the professor's arms, but they fell down again by their own weight. The clouds flitting across the moon alternately hid and revealed her light, and the black shadows in the room seemed as if they formed themselves into imps and monsters. The stillness became awful. Would the morning never break? Only the clock on the mantel-shelf spoke. Tick-tack, tick-tack, it repeated in a monotonous tone, but no sound answered back. He heard a noise outside, and creeping up to the window, opened it and listened. Too-hoot, too-hoot, it sounded. "It is only the hooting of an owl in the garden," he said, as he shut the window and lay down on the sofa. Doctor Riche's thoughts wandered back again to the café and to Mademoiselle Violette and her ring. What was it she told him when she steadily gazed on it? "I must try and refresh my memory," he said to himself. "I think a sip of brandy might help me," and acting on the impulse he turned up the light, and entering the next room poured out a liqueur glass of the brandy which François had brought for Renée.

"Ah! That does one good," he said as he poured out a second glass. "I recollect perfectly now the very words she said. I remember her telling me that she saw a house in one of the suburbs of Paris.

"'Yes,' she said, 'I see a large room which opens into a smaller room. I see a number of people sitting down in a half circle. There are'--what was it she said? Oh! I remember--'there are five men and three ladies.' I recollect the number perfectly, because at the time it flashed across my mind that there were exactly the same five men and three women figures in a Noah's Ark I gave to my nephew last New Year's day. Ma foi! but that is curious. The number corresponds exactly to the number of guests who were at the séance last night. Let me see. There were Villebois, Payot, Delapine, Marcel, and myself--five men; and Madame, Céleste and Renée--three ladies."

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "that is a very curious coincidence, and I remember now she said one of the men had a pointed black beard, and they were putting him to sleep. And then someone suddenly cried out: 'Oh! God, he is dead.' Why, that fits Delapine like a glove. Oh yes, and I recollect now she spoke of a large envelope sealed with four or five seals--I forget which--in a drawer, or writing-table, or secretary or something, I must hunt around for it as soon as I have had breakfast. Céleste will be only too pleased to help me. Of course it is all nonsense--but still as the first part of her version fits so well, it is just worth while seeing whether any other part will prove true."

At length fatigue proved too much for him, and flinging himself down on his bed, he fell into a deep slumber.

It was not until François brought the café au lait to his bedside next morning that Riche awoke.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "it's ten o'clock."

"Oui, monsieur," said François, "I came to call you three times, but you were so fast asleep that I did not have the heart to wake you."

"And the others?" enquired Riche.

"They are all fast asleep too."

"I don't wonder after all we have gone through."

"Ah! monsieur, it is terrible," said François, and he shook his head solemnly. "I have been in Doctor Villebois' service seventeen years now, and never have I spent a night so horrible as this one."

"Yes, François. What Bossuet said in his great funeral oration will apply equally well here. 'O nuit désastreuse! O nuit effroyable! ou retentit tout-à-coup comme un éclat de tonnerre cette étonnante nouvelle. Monsieur est mort.'"

"Ah, mon Dieu! Monsieur le professor was indeed a good man. He will go straight to heaven without any purgatory."

"Are you sure that he will go to heaven?" asked Riche with a smile at the worthy man's earnestness.

"Oh! I think so, I think so. You will pardon me for speaking so plainly, mon docteur, but there is a difficulty, yes, just a little difficulty. You see he never went to Mass, or even to church, but then he was so noble and so good to the poor, that he would be certain to go to Paradise. Of course the good God would be obliged to give him a little purgatory as a mere matter of form just to keep up appearances, but He would be sure to let him out at the end of an hour or two. Don't you think so, mon docteur?"

"Let us hope so," said Riche fervently, but with a slight shrug of the shoulders, as François bowed and left the room.

In a little while the servant returned with a message. "My master requests you to be good enough to come and see him as soon as possible," said François, as Riche was putting the finishing touches to his toilette.

"Tell your master I will be with him in a few minutes."

"Ah, my dear Riche," said Villebois, as the doctor entered the parlour, "I want you to come to Renée's room and hold a consultation with me. I fear the poor child has taken Delapine's death too much to heart. She appears to be heart-broken, and is making herself ill with sobbing. Anyone could see that she was fond of him, but I had no idea that she loved him to this degree. It is really very touching, n'est-ce pas?"

They found poor Renée lying in bed, her face flushed with fever, and moaning as if in pain. Her maid had applied ice compresses to her head, and she barely noticed the doctors as they entered the room. At length Villebois persuaded her to sit up, and take a little nourishment.

"By the way, mademoiselle, did Delapine ever give you any packets or letters to take care of for him?" said Riche.

"Yes, doctor, two days ago he gave me a large envelope and told me to take care of it for him, and to be sure and open it the moment he was dead. I was very frightened at what he said, and asked him to explain what he meant, but he merely shook his head and assured me there was no need for alarm, and all he asked me to promise was to carry out his instructions."

"But you have not carried them out, my child," said Villebois, smiling.

"Oh, doctor, how could I? I have been so ill and worried I have been unable to think of anything at all."

"Well, never mind," said Riche consolingly, "fortunately no harm has been done. Do you remember what the envelope looked like?"

"It was sealed with large red seals."

"What," cried Riche, bounding up from his seat as if he had been shot, "did you say it was sealed?"

"Yes, doctor, it had five seals in wax."

"Diable!" cried Riche in such an excited tone of surprise that Villebois thought he must be out of his senses. "Tell me quick where it is."

"You will find it in my writing-desk, doctor," said Renée, alarmed at his excited manner. "What do you want it for?"

"I must have it--I mean, may I bring it to you?"

"Certainly, if you wish to, doctor."

Dr. Riche on hearing this hastily left the room in a great state of excitement.

"What is the matter with him?" asked Renée, "why is he so eager to get the packet? It is merely a trifle after all."

"I have no idea, but I will go and see for myself."

As Villebois was leaving the room, the servant met him, and whispered something in his ear as he handed him a card.

"Shut the door quickly," said Villebois in a low tone. "We must not on any account let mademoiselle hear about it."

He followed the servant into the library where a gentleman advanced to meet him.

"I am sent from the parquet with orders from the representative of the Procureur de la République to carry out an autopsy on the body of Monsieur le Professor Delapine."

"Good," replied Villebois, "pray step this way."

Doctor Roux, for that was his name, entered the séance room armed with a large black bag, from which he withdrew a white apron extending below his knees with long sleeves, and an array of instruments and dishes.

Placing the latter on a table near at hand, he removed his coat, and attired himself in his apron. He began operations by displaying an immense amount of zeal and activity in his preparations for the autopsy. He first ordered a large kitchen table to be brought into the middle of the room, and had Delapine's body placed on it. Doctor Villebois offered his assistance, which was somewhat reluctantly accepted.

Selecting a sharp scalpel Dr. Roux was about to make the first incision, when Riche rushed into the room in a state of tremendous excitement.

"Stop! For God's sake stop," he shouted, "before it is too late," and seizing Dr. Roux' arm he pulled it away so violently that the scalpel cut one of the worthy doctor's fingers.

"What is the matter with you, are you mad?" exclaimed Dr. Roux, as he tried to stop the blood which spurted from his finger.

"Stop, stop, you must not touch him, it's murder," cried Riche. "See here," and he showed Roux a letter which he had just taken out of the envelope.

Roux seized the letter and proceeded to read it, while the two other doctors read it from over his shoulder:--

"My beloved Renée," it ran--

"I have reason to suspect that someone is intending to poison me with a drug of such fearful power that I shall either be killed instantly or, what is more probable, I shall be rendered apparently dead, and show no signs of life. If therefore I am found apparently dead, I enjoin you for the love you bear me, not to permit my autopsy, or burial, until the signs of death are clear and unmistakable, otherwise I may be killed or buried alive."

"There, Dr. Roux, what do you make of that?" asked Riche.

"It is a hoax, sir," said Roux, "the man is dead right enough. I shall proceed to do my duty."

"You will not, sir," said Riche in a rage.

"Who are you, sir, that you speak to me in this way, and forbid me to obey my orders?"

"I am Dr. Riche, Ancien Interne at the Hotel Dieu, and surgeon to the Charité at Algiers," he said, handing over his card.

Dr. Roux looked him up and down from head to foot, and adjusting his pince-nez with deliberation took the card and read it carefully. Again he paused and looked at Riche, but observing the terrible earnestness of his expression, he restrained his feelings. "Dr. Riche," he exclaimed with mingled hesitation and astonishment, "forgive me, I apologise for my rudeness, I had no idea I was addressing a colleague so celebrated," and he offered his hand which Riche shook heartily.

"I also agree with my friend and colleague," said Villebois. "We must desist at once and arrange to await events."

Roux gave a slight grunt of disappointment, but yielding to the inevitable, packed up his instruments, and putting on his coat, bowed profoundly, and prepared to depart.

"No, Dr. Roux, we cannot allow you to go without partaking of our hospitality," said Villebois, bowing. "Let us go to the library, and break a bottle of wine between us."

The three doctors were soon chatting round the table in the library the very best of friends.

"See, doctor, what I have just found in another envelope," said Riche, handing Roux a little love-poem which Delapine had evidently written to Renée about the same time as the letter.

"Let me read it to you," said Riche, "it's a gentle rhyme of four verses such as a lover might write to his lady-love. It has, however, a disguised prophetic meaning which shows clearly that Delapine felt convinced that his 'death' would only be apparent, and that he would eventually return to life.

"Listen, this is what he says:

"Is it raining little sister? Be glad of rain. Yield not to the doubt sinister, Choose the pain. It will make your burden lighter, It will make your joy the brighter, Renée dear.

"Does your heart ache, Renée dear? Be glad of pain. The harvest never will draw near, Without rain. Sorrow must prepare the way For the clouds to pass away, Renée dear.

"Instead of weeping at your loss, Rejoice for him. You cannot see that he is sleeping, With eyes so dim. Death can never reach so far, Peering through the gates ajar, Renée dear.

"Are you weary of the fight? Struggle on. When all is lost, and dark the night, The victory's won. Love will steer your bark aright, When there is no land in sight, Renée dear."

"It would be interesting to see if we could find any indications of life," said Roux, "and I propose that we adjourn to Delapine's bedside once more."

"That is quite a good idea," said Villebois and Riche together.

"If you will permit me, gentlemen," said Roux after applying the stethoscope over the heart to no purpose, "I will make a prick with a needle into the arm." He did so, but no blood flowed. "That is a certain proof that he is dead."

"Not so fast, not so fast, sir," said Riche. "Bring me a mirror. This is a much more delicate test which I have made with great success in Algiers, when all other methods have failed." The doctor held a small mirror close to Delapine's mouth, and the three doctors gazed at the highly polished surface intensely.

"Look, Villebois, look," said Riche excitedly. "I swear I saw a trace of vapour on the surface."

Villebois repeated the experiment without result.

"I think the mirror is too warm," said Villebois, "let us cool it." He placed the back of the mirror on a lump of ice for a minute, and wiping the surface with a handkerchief, tried again. "See, see, there is a trace of moisture--I swear it, look!"

All three doctors repeated the experiment several times. Sometimes they failed and sometimes they succeeded, or thought they succeeded, and Roux finally departed, unconvinced that he was alive, but at the same time unwilling to sign a certificate to the effect that he was dead. "We must wait for the post-mortem signs to appear over the abdomen," he said to himself. "Three days will settle it at any rate."

Riche and Villebois, however, were more sanguine, and they went back to Renée's room.

They found Payot sitting by her side, applying the iced bandages to her head, and ever and anon stroking her hair and kissing her forehead.

Renée recognised her father, and smiled with mingled surprise and pleasure at the great change which had come over his conduct towards her.

"Cheer up, Renée," Villebois cried aloud as they ran to her bedside, "cheer up, we have not abandoned all hope yet."

Renée was so petrified with astonishment that she was unable to speak for some moments.

"What did you say? Do you mean that Henri is alive?"

"Well, not exactly that," interposed Riche, "but I could almost swear he is not dead."

Renée sat bolt upright in bed, and rubbed her eyes to make sure she was not dreaming, and seizing Riche's hand made him repeat his statement.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, doctor, for this good news."

"Read this, Renée, and this as well," he said smiling, and he handed her Delapine's message and tender little verses.

"Are these what you found in the envelope?" she exclaimed, when she had read the contents. "Now I am certain that he will return to me."

"Oh, father," she cried, putting her arms round him and kissing him, "this is the best medicine in the world for me, it will soon make me well. See, I feel better already," and she clapped her hands for joy.

"Quick, doctor, run and fetch Céleste that I may be the first to give her the good news."

Presently Céleste came in, and Renée told her what she had just heard.

"Oh, Renée, this is almost too good to be true. Won't it be just delightful to have him back again. I don't think we half know the value of anything until we are deprived of it."

"You are perfectly correct," said Riche, "really I think the philosophic mantle of the professor must have descended on you."

"Now I begin to understand what Professor Delapine meant when he said the other day 'We shall be separated for a long time, but take courage, it will all come right.' It was a riddle to me at the time, but now it is quite clear what he meant. Don't you think, papa, that the professor must have some wonderful power of seeing into the future? How else could he possibly guess what was going to happen to him?"

"I can understand in a sort of vague way," said Payot, "that very clever people might be able to discover what had happened in the past, but how anyone can tell what is going to happen in the future is a mystery to me. Can you explain it to me, doctor?"

"I confess the whole thing is inconceivable to me," said Villebois, "and yet I know that it is not impossible, because on more than one occasion Delapine has predicted the most minute details of facts and events which have occurred since precisely as he said they would happen, and I have never once known him wrong."

"When Henri comes back to me I will ask him," said Renée as she looked up at Villebois with a slight nod, convinced in her own mind that Delapine was only taking a longer sleep than usual, and that he would be able to wake up of his own accord like Rip van Winkle. "I am sure he will be able to explain it, because he knows everything."

"That is rather a large order, mademoiselle," said Riche, laughing. "Even the immortal gods of Homer were not omniscient. If you had read your Faust you may recollect that when Mephistopheles is asked if he knows everything, replies 'Allwissend bin ich nicht; doch viel ist mir bewust.'"[13]

"But you must admit that the professor is frightfully clever," said Céleste, looking up at Renée for confirmation.

"There I am entirely with you," said Riche. "He is certainly the most gifted man I ever met. His marvellous discoveries are not all of a character that meet the public eye, as they are too mathematical and too far above the grasp of the general public to be appreciated; but you have only to ask any member of the Institute or of any of the royal societies of Europe what they think of him, and they will tell you he has a remarkable future before him. There is really nothing that seems impossible to him, if he only gives his mind to it. Isn't that your opinion, Mademoiselle Renée?"

But Renée never answered. The fresh excitement on hearing the good news had revived her for the moment, and then the reaction set in, and she fell back exhausted, and dropped asleep.

Villebois pointed to Renée, and held his fingers to his lips, then beckoning to the others to follow him, he slipped out of the room on tip-toe. Riche quickly pulled down the blinds, and made the room dark, while Renée was left alone to her slumbers.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 10: Small is the gulf that lies twixt life and death.]

[Footnote 11: Ne'er heaven permits that he should die who does not merit death.]

[Footnote 12: The Tempest.]

[Footnote 13: Omniscient am I not, yet much is known to me.

Faust, part 1, act 4.]