Rose à Charlitte

by Marshall Saunders

  CHAPTER VIII.

  ON THE SUDDEN SOMETHING ILL.

  "Dull days had hung like curtained mysteries, And nights were weary with the starless skies. At once came life, and fire, and joys untold, And promises for violets to unfold; And every breeze had shreds of melodies, So faint and sweet."

  J. F. HERBIN.

  One midnight, three weeks later, when perfect silence and darknessbrooded over Sleeping Water, and the only lights burning were the starsup aloft, and two lamps in two windows of the inn, Vesper opened hiseyes and looked about him.

  He saw for some dreamy moments only a swimming curtain of black, with afew familiar objects picked out against the gloom. He could distinguishhis trunk sailing to and fro, a remembered mirror before which he hadbrushed his hair, a book in a well-known binding, and a lamp with a softyellow globe, that immediately took him to a certain restaurant inParis, and made him fancy that he was dining under the yellow lights inits ceiling.

  Where was he,--in what country had he been having this long, dreamlesssleep? And by dint of much brain racking, which bathed his whole body ina profuse perspiration, he at length retraced his steps back into hislife, and decided that he was in the last place that he rememberedbefore he fell into this disembodied-spirit condition of mind,--his roomin the Sleeping Water Inn.

  There was the open window, through which he had so often listened to thesoothing murmur of the sea; there were the easy chairs, the chest ofdrawers, the little table, that, as he remembered it last, was notcovered with medicine-bottles. The child's cot was a wholly new object.Had the landlady's little boy been sharing his quarters? What was hisname? Ah, yes, Narcisse,--and what had they called the sulky Acadien whohad hung about the house, and who now sat reading in a rocking-chair bythe table?

  Agapit--that was it; but why was he here in his room? Some one had beenill. "I am that person," suddenly drifted into his tortured mind. "Ihave been very ill; perhaps I am going to die." But the thought causedhim no uneasiness, no regret; he was conscious only of an indescribablyacute and nervous torture as his weary eyes glued themselves to theunconscious face of his watcher.

  Agapit would soon lift his head, would stare at him, would utter someexclamation; and, in mute, frantic expectation, Vesper waited for thestart and the exclamation. If they did come he felt that they would killhim; if they did not, he felt that nothing less than a sudden andimmediate felling to the floor of his companion would satisfy thedemands of his insane and frantic agitation.

  Fortunately Agapit soon turned his anxious face towards the bed. He didnot start, he did not exclaim: he had been too well drilled for that;but a quick, quiet rapture fell upon him that was expressed only by thetrembling of his finger tips.

  The young American had come out of the death-like unconsciousness ofpast days and nights; he now had a chance to recover; but while athanksgiving to the mother of angels was trembling on his lips, hispatient surveyed him in an ecstasy of irritation and weakness that foundexpression in hysterical laughter.

  Agapit was alarmed. He had never heard Vesper laugh in health. He hadrarely smiled. Possibly he might be calmed by the offer of something toeat, and, picking up a bowl of jelly, he approached the bed.

  Vesper made a supreme effort, slightly moved his head from thedescending spoon, and uttered the worst expression that he could summonfrom his limited vocabulary of abuse of former days.

  Agapit drew back, and resignedly put the jelly on the table. "Heremembers the past," he reflected, with hanging head.

  Vesper did not remember the past; he was conscious of no resentment. Hewas possessed only of a wild desire to be rid of this man, whosepresence inflamed him to the verge of madness.

  After sorrowfully surveying him, while retreating further and furtherfrom his inarticulate expressions of rage, Agapit stepped into the hall.In a few minutes he returned with Rose, who looked pale and weary, as ifshe, too, were a watcher by a sick-bed. She glanced quickly at Vesper,suppressed a smile when he made a face at Agapit, and signed to thelatter to leave the room.

  Vesper became calm. Instead of sitting down beside him, or staring athim, she had gone to the window, and stood with folded hands, lookingout into the night. After some time she went to the table, took up abottle, and, carefully examining it, poured a few drops into a spoon.

  Vesper took the liquid from her, with no sense of irritation; then, asshe quickly turned away, he felt himself sinking down, down, through hisbed, through the floor, through the crust of the earth, into regions ofinfinite space, from which he had come back to the world for a time.

  The next time he waked up, Agapit was again with him. The formerpantomime would have been repeated if Agapit had not at onceprecipitated himself from the room, and sent Rose to take his place.

  This time she smiled at Vesper, and made an effort to retain hisattention, even going so far as to leave the room and reenter with a waneffigy of Narcisse in her arms,--a pale and puny thing that staredlanguidly at him, and attempted to kiss his hand.

  Vesper tried to speak to the child, lost himself in the attempt, thenroused his slumbering fancy once more and breathed a question to Mrs.Rose,--"My mother?"

  "Your mother is well, and is here," murmured his landlady. "You shallsee her soon."

  Vesper's periods of slumber after this were not of so long duration, andone warm and delicious afternoon, when the sunlight was streaming in andflooding his bed, he opened his eyes on a frail, happy figure flutteringabout the room. "Ah, mother," he said, calmly, "you are here."

  She flew to the bed, she hovered over him, embraced him, turned away,came back to him, and finally, rigidly clasping her hands to ensureself-control, sat down beside him.

  At first she would not talk, the doctor would not permit it; but aftersome days her tongue was allowed to take its course freely anduninterruptedly.

  "My dear boy, what a horrible fright you gave me! Your letters cameevery day for a week, then they stopped. I waited two days, thinking youhad gone to some other place, then I telegraphed. You were ill. You canimagine how I hurried here, with Henry to take care of me. And what doyou think I found? Such a curious state of affairs. Do you know thatthese Acadiens hated you at first?"

  "Yes, I remember that."

  "But when you fell ill, that young man, Agapit, installed himself asyour nurse. They spoke of getting a Sister of Charity, but had somescruples, thinking you might not like it, as you are a Protestant. Mrs.de Foret closed her inn; she would receive no guests, lest they mightdisturb you. She and her cousin nursed you. They got an English doctorto drive twelve miles every day,--they thought you would prefer him to aFrench one. Then her little boy fell ill; he said the young man Agapithad hurt you. They thought he would die, for he had brain fever. Hecalled all the time for you, and when he had lucid intervals, they couldonly convince him you were not dead by bringing him in, and putting himin this cot. Really, it was a most deplorable state of affairs. But thecharming part is that they thought you were a pauper. When I arrived,they were thunderstruck. They had not opened your trunk, which you leftlocked, though they said they would have done so if I had not come, forthey feared you might die, and they wanted to get the addresses of yourfriends, and every morning, my dear boy, for three days after you weretaken ill, you started up at nine o'clock, the time that queer, redpostman used to come,--and wrote a letter to me."

  Mrs. Nimmo paused, hid her face in her hands, and burst into tears. "Italmost broke my heart when I heard it,--to think of you rousing yourselfevery day from your semi-unconsciousness to write to your mother. Icannot forgive myself for letting you go away without me."

  "Why did they not write from here to you?" asked Vesper.

  "They did not know I was your mother. I don't think they looked at theaddress of the letters you had sent. They thought you were poor, and anadventurer."

  "Why did they not write to _
The Evening News_?"

  "My dear boy, they were doing everything possible for you, and theywould have written in time."

  "You have, of course, told them that they shall suffer no loss by allthis?"

  "Yes, yes; but they seem almost ashamed to take money from me. Thatcharming landlady says, 'If I were rich I would pay all, myself.'Vesper, she is a wonderful woman."

  "Is she?" he said, languidly.

  "I never saw any one like her. My darling, how do you feel? Mayn't Igive you some wine? I feel as if I had got you back from the grave, Ican never be sufficiently thankful. The doctor says you may be carriedout-of-doors in a week, if you keep on improving, as you are sure to do.The air here seems to suit you perfectly. You would never have been illif you had not been run down when you came. That young man Agapit ismaking a stretcher to carry you. He is terribly ashamed of his dislikefor you, and he fairly worships you now."

  "I suppose you went through my trunk," said Vesper, in faint, indulgenttones.

  "Well, yes," said Mrs. Nimmo, reluctantly. "I thought, perhaps, theremight be something to be attended to."

  "And you read my great-grandfather's letter?"

  "Yes,--I will tell you exactly what I did. I found the key the secondday I came, and I opened the trunk. When I discovered that old yellowletter, I knew it was something important. I read it, and of courserecognized that you had come here in search of the Fiery Frenchman'schildren. However, I did not think you would like me to tell theseAcadiens that, so I merely said, 'How you have misunderstood my son! Hecame here to do good to some of your people. He is looking for thedescendants of a poor unhappy man. My son has money, and would helpyou.'"

  Vesper tried to keep back the little crease of amusement forming itselfabout his wasted lips. He had rarely seen his mother so happy and soexcited. She prattled on, watching him sharply to see the effect of herwords, and hovering over him like a kind little mother-bird. In some wayshe reminded him curiously enough of Emmanuel de la Rive.

  "I simply told them how good you are, and how you hate to have a fussmade over you. The young Acadien man actually writhed, and Mrs. de Foretcried like a baby. Then they said, 'Oh, why did he put the name of apaper after his name?' 'How cruel in you to say that!' I replied tothem. 'He does that because it reminds him of his dead father, whom headored. My husband was editor and proprietor of the paper, and my sonowns a part of it.' You should have seen the young Acadien. He put hishead down on his arms, then he lifted it, and said, 'But does your sonnot write?' 'Write!' I exclaimed, indignantly, 'he hates writing. To me,his own mother, he only sends half a dozen lines. He never wrote anewspaper article in his life.' They would have been utterly overcome ifI had not praised them for their disinterestedness in taking care ofyou in spite of their prejudice against you. Vesper, they will doanything for you now; and that exquisite child,--it is just like aromance that he should have fallen ill because you did."

  "Is he better?"

  "Almost well. They often bring him in when you are asleep. I daresay itwould amuse you to have him sit on your bed for awhile."

  Vesper was silent, and, after a time, his mother ran on: "This Frenchdistrict is delightfully unique. I never was in such an out-of-the-worldplace except in Europe. I feel as if I had been moved back into a formercentury, when I see those women going about in their blackhandkerchiefs. I sit at the window and watch them going by,--I shouldnever weary of them."

  Vesper said nothing, but he reflected affectionately and acutely that ina fortnight his appreciative but fickle mother would be longing for therustle of silks, the flutter of laces, and the hum of fashionableconversation on a veranda, which was her idea of an enjoyable summerexistence.