FullReads

But there the gladness ended. At Mrs. Fontenette’s bedside he asked no questions. In the parlor he said to us:

“Well, … you’ve done your best; … I’ve done mine; … and it’s of no use.”

“Oh, Doctor!” exclaimed Mrs. Smith.

“Why, didn’t you know it?” He jerked his thumb toward the sick-room. “She knows it. She told me she knew it, with her first glance.”

He pondered. “I wish she were not so near him. If she were only in here –you see?”

Yes, we saw; the two patients would then be, on their either hand, one whole room apart, as if in two squares of a checkerboard that touch only at one corner.

“Well,” he said, “we must move her at once. I’ll show you how; I’ll stay and help you.”

It seemed more as though we helped him–a very little–as we first moved her and then took the light bedstead apart, set it up again in the parlor, and laid her in it, all without a noticeable sound, and with only great comfort of mind to her–for she knew why we did it. Then I made all haste to my own house again and had the relief to see, as Senda came toward me from her husband’s room, that he had told her nothing. “Vell?” she eagerly asked.

“Well, Monsieur Fontenette is greatly improved!”

“O sat iss goodt! And se Madame; she, too, is betteh?–a little?–eh– no-o?”

I said that what the doctor had feared, a “lesion,” had taken place, and that there was no longer any hope of her life. At which she lighted up with a lovely defiance.

“Ho-o! no long-eh any hope! Yes, sare iss long-er any hope! Vhere iss sat doc-toh? Sare shall be hope! Kif me sat patient! I can keep se vatch of mine huss-bandt at se same time. He hass not a relapse! Kif me se patient! Many ossehs befo’e I haf savedt vhen hadt sose doctohs no long-eh any hope! Mine Gott! vas sare so much hope vhen she and her hussbandt mine sick hussbandt and me out of se street took in? Vill you let stay by mine hussbandt, anyhow a short vhile, one of yo’ so goodt sairvants?” The instant I assented she flew down the veranda steps, through the garden, and out across the street.

I lingered a few moments with the entomologist before leaving him with others. He asked me only one question: “Hmm! Hmm! How she iss?”

“Why,” said I, brightly, “I think she feels rather more comfortable than she did.”

“Hmm!–Hmm!–I am sorry–Hmm!–Ach! mine Gott, I am so hoongary!–Hmm! I am so dtired mit dot sou-oup undt dose creckers!–Hmm! I vish I haf vonce a whole pifshtea-ak undt a glahss beer–hmm!”

“Hmm!” I echoed, “your subsequent marketing wouldn’t cost much.” I went down town on some imperative office business, came back in a cab, gave word to be called at such an hour, and lay down. But while I slept my order was countermanded and when I awakened it was once more midnight. I went to my open window and heard, through his balcony door–locked, now, and its key in my pocket–the Baron, snoring. Then I sprang into my clothes and sped across the street.

I went first around to the outer door of the dining-room, and was briefly told the best I could have hoped, of Fontenette. I returned to the front and stepped softly into what had been Mrs. Fontenette’s room. Finding no one in it I waited, and when I presently heard voices in the other room, I touched its door-knob. Mrs. Smith came out, closed the door carefully, and sank into a seat.

“It’s been a noble fight!” she said, smiling up through her tears. “When the doctor came back and saw how wonderfully the–the worst–had been held off, he joined in the battle! He’s been here three times since!”

“And can it be that she is going to pull through?”

My wife’s face went down into her hands. “O, no–no. She’s dying now– dying in Senda’s arms!”