headerCHAPTER XIII.THE CONSULTATION.
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Scarcely had the outer door closed upon Firmin when Monsieur Eugène finished his interview with the land-owner, and presently Catherine was asked to come into his office.
A strange man was Monsieur Eugène. He was rich in many good qualities, but he had one fault, or rather an unfortunate failing, which had practically destroyed those gifts of nature which would have made him a great success had he but devoted himself to one profession or one art.
Having received a liberal education in other branches, Eugène Bertier went to Paris to study medicine. For three years he applied himself to this science with an unusual enthusiasm. Not a student in the college could compare with him in diligence or knowledge. He was held up as an example to the other students, and was very popular among the foremost surgeons in the institution. One day a little child, a girl of fourteen, was brought to the hospital. She was a winsome, intelligent little thing who had been cruelly burned in a fire while attempting to save a baby brother. From the first moment he saw her Eugène gained an affection almost paternal for the little girl—his No. 17, as he called her, being his seventeenth patient.
The principal doctor said to him: “Monsieur Bertier, I place this little girl in your charge. I believe that you can cure her.”
Eugène accepted the trust, saying: “Yes, I am sure of it.”
The little girl had the utmost confidence in her young physician, and seeing with what tenderness he dressed her burns, she bore the pain with rare fortitude. The right side of her body was a mass of sores. With compressed lips she endured the agony of having the cotton changed, not a cry escaping her. When the pain was less intense, when she was comparatively easy, the young doctor questioned her concerning her family and home life, winning her confidence by his kind and sympathetic manner. Alas! little Madelaine’s story was a sad one. Her father, a well-born, honest, and worthy man, becoming financially embarrassed, had ended his troubles by committing suicide. He had left four children and a nervous, sickly wife to battle with the world. The mother soon afterward had died, and young Madelaine had been left to provide for her little brothers and sister—not for long, however, for in trying to save her youngest charge, who perished in a fire, she herself had been terribly burned, and the two other children had been handed over to charity.
Quite simply she told her story, as though her pain and suffering were but natural and merited. Monsieur Eugène was touched. “First,” he mentally concluded, “let me cure her and then I will see what can be done.”
Every day he brought to her some delicacy: a basket of fruit, a nosegay, or some bonbons. Never was a brother more devoted to a sister than was he to the afflicted child. The treatment to which he resortedseemed certain. It was now only a question of time, and each day the affection between the two grew stronger.
“Fortunately I am rich, and when she is strong enough I will establish her in a little flower-stall wherever she wishes it to be located.”
Then the hot weather came and Eugène redoubled his precautions and care. One day, however, he found a little white spot upon the flesh where the burn had resisted his treatment.
Calling the chief surgeon, he showed him the spot and expressed his own fears in a whisper. “That is nothing,” said the surgeon. “Don’t worry about it.”
He prescribed another application, but on the following day Madelaine was worse. Then Eugène called in consultation the most famous practitioners in all Paris, but in vain.
Twenty-four hours later the young girl died in his arms. Science had failed to save her.
The grief-stricken young physician thus depreciated the art of healing: “For what purpose is science? What matters it how hard one studies or how deeply one delves into scientific research if one can do nothing at a time like this? Science, after all, is only an illusion, and the scientists are humbugs. I do not wish to deceive those who come to me in confidence. I will renounce this so-called science. I will not be a physician.”
His decision was irrevocable. But as he was by nature fond of work he could not remain idle or aimless, and accordingly three months later he began the study of painting. After four years in this pursuit he abandoned it to study law. Whatever he undertook he didwell, and his brilliant attainments won for him the respect of every one. But he spoiled everything by always and at every step exacting of himself perfection. The men with whom he came in contact must be irreproachable. To see wickedness and immorality on all sides was terrible to him. The means which men employed to succeed in life disgusted him. Here and there he saw that men of brains often fell short of success, while dull and irresponsible men were on the top wave of prosperity, and these glimpses of life shocked his too sensitive nature.
It is a decided mistake not to take humanity for what it is worth, without stopping to speculate and to moralize. But poor Eugène could not understand the frailty of mankind, and so one day at the age of thirty-five, disillusioned, not knowing what to do, regretting his own unworthiness, but convinced that a man truly honest and pure-minded will strive to make his own life unimpeachable before criticising the foibles of others, he realized how little real good he had done in the world. Visions of the fields and hedges of Morvan came to his mind, and finally he returned to his native town to put all his knowledge and acquirements at the service of his unsophisticated neighbors.
Twenty years later he still dwelt at St. Benoit, where a fellow-citizen could not construct a house, fell a tree, marry a girl, make a will, buy a meadow or undertake a lawsuit without consulting Monsieur Eugène. Always good-natured and generous, he gave himself up unreservedly to all their interests. He cured their wounds, settled their disputes, and advised them in their conduct, and only asked in return a little gratitude.
To say that Monsieur Eugène did not nourish vagueregrets would hardly be true. But he had acquired, with years, a certain indifference to what might have been, which contributed greatly to his tranquillity of mind.
When Catherine entered he asked her to sit down for a moment while he wrote a few lines. Monsieur Eugène’s library was an artistic, beautiful room. Rare volumes filled the shelves and exquisiteobjets d’artand uniquevertuwere scattered about in profusion. All these things, however, were quite lost upon the ordinary peasant who came to him for advice. Only a few, like Catherine and Savin, could appreciate his taste, the rest declaring that Monsieur Eugène wasbizarreand eccentric in this particular. Catherine was too much excited to contain herself, and stepping up to his desk she simply said: “Monsieur Eugène, I want to procure a separation.”
“What! Has Savin been unkind to you?”
“Yes, and moreover he struck me on the shoulder. I will not stand such indignities, of course, and besides, we are both unhappy together, so it will be far better if we are separated.”
“Was any one present at your quarrel?”
“No.”
“That is unfortunate, for witnesses are necessary in such a case. A tribunal would not be satisfied with your word alone.”
“Ah! and what if he kills me in the mean time?”
“My dear Catherine, I do not say the law is always agreeable. I only tell you what the law is.”
“Then it is impossible for me to free myself from him?”
“No. If Savin confesses that he struck you, that will suffice.”
“Then he will confess it, for he desires a separation quite as much as I do.”
“Very well. Have you any money?”
“Why? Do I need much?”
“Certainly.”
“What! must I be subjected to insult, maltreatment, and abuse because I have no money?”
“Alas!”
“Mon Dieu!And then the world is astonished because a man is tempted to kill his wife or a woman to——”
“Say no more, Catherine. The words may cost you dear.”
“But how unreasonable!”
“The law provides, however, in cases like yours, that if one of the parties be really a worthy object of judiciary assistance, the government will furnish it.”
“Then I shall seek such aid. How can I do so?”
“Wait one minute and tell me, is it true that you permitted Bruno to embrace you yesterday in the walnut grove?”
Catherine blushed and lowered her eyes.
“Be frank with me, Catherine. I am your friend.”
“Well, yes, it is true; but if you only knew the circumstances——”
“Listen, Catherine. You have been very indiscreet, and naturally your husband is mad with jealousy and wounded pride.”
“O Monsieur, do not discuss the question. I understand all you would say; but do you not think I can obtain the assistance you speak of?”
“Candidly, no. You cannot.”
“But why?”
“Because you have been at fault, and inquiries will be made regarding your character, and Savin’s as well.”
“What of that?”
“Everybody knows Savin and admires him. The magistrates will learn about the raspberryfêtelast summer and its consequences. Besides, you have been most imprudent in your attitude toward Firmin and Bruno.”
“But, Monsieur——”
“My child, even if you had the necessary means to push a lawsuit, I should still advise you to desist.”
“Why?”
“Because Savin married you under most peculiar circumstances, and you must not forget his generosity and magnanimity in shielding you against the world. Most women would adore such a man, no matter how jealous he was. Such a man never has any difficulty in finding friends to defend him.”
“I have nothing more to say, Monsieur. Good-morning,” said Catherine, as she hastened with an injured look toward the door.
Understanding her feelings, Monsieur Eugène quietly rose and opened the door for her. Sad and troubled, Catherine went away. As she was passing the inn she heard a loud discussion going on. Andoche’s voice could be heard above all the others, but Firmin too was talking loudly, trying to defend himself against their taunts.
“She is pretty, to be sure, Firmin,” Fadard was saying, “but you must run a great risk.”
“Can it be that you have been to the war?” asked another.
“What a gay cavalier you are,” declared a third.
“May you live to grow old,” cried Fadard, sarcastically.
“Stop!” shouted Firmin, at last, “or you will be sorry.”
“About what?”
“Well, you just wait long enough and he will do you up in the same way, Monsieur; and then we shall see how much there is to your boasted bravery. You are as much of a poacher as anybody.”
“Look out—here comes Savin’s wife.”
“Well, she will shut his mouth quick enough.”
Firmin seized a bottle and brandished it over the head of Nicolas, the last speaker. Andoche interposed, and Firmin, availing himself of the opportunity to escape, ran out of the inn and soon overtook Catherine on the road. She greeted him with an air of hauteur.
“I know what a coward you are,” she said. “I see I can look to you for nothing.”
“I will kill him to-night.”
“Oh, come, you are only boasting.”
“I will kill him, I tell you!”
“AndIdon’t believe you.”
With a savage gesture Firmin turned and left her.
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