CHAPTER IVAN INTERRUPTED JOURNEY
Fora moment, madame debated on what was best to be done; then, finding herself equal to the emergency, she gently laid the unconscious woman on the bed, unfastened her dress, and slowly and softly removed her clothing. Although madame was lame, she was very strong, and in a few moments the sufferer was resting between the clean, cool sheets, while her child clung to her cold hands and sobbed piteously.
“Don’t cry, my little dear, don’t cry. Help me to bathe your mama’s face; help me like a good child, and she’ll be better soon, now she’s comfortable and can rest.”
With the thought that she could be of some assistance, Lady Jane struggled bravely to swallow her sobs, took off her hat with womanly gravity, and prepared herself to assist as nurse.
“Here’s smelling salts, and cologne-water,” shesaid, opening her mother’s bag. “Mama likes this; let me wet her handkerchief.”
Madame Jozain, watching the child’s movements, caught a glimpse of the silver fittings of the bag, and of a bulging pocket-book within it, and, while the little girl was hanging over her mother, she quietly removed the valuables to the drawer of herarmoire, which she locked, and put the key in her bosom.
“I must keep these things away from Raste,” she said to herself; “he’s so thoughtless and impulsive, he might take them without considering the consequences.”
For some time madame bent over the stranger, using every remedy she knew to restore her to consciousness, while the child assisted her with thoughtfulness and self-control, really surprising in one of her age. Sometimes her hot tears fell on her mother’s white face, but no sob or cry escaped her little quivering lips, while she bathed the pale forehead, smoothed the beautiful hair, and rubbed the soft, cold hands.
At length, with a shiver and a convulsive groan, the mother partly opened her eyes, but there was no recognition in their dull gaze.
“Mama, dear, dear mama, are you better?” imploredthe child, as she hung over her and kissed her passionately.
“You see she’s opened her eyes, so she must be better; but she’s sleepy,” said madame gently. “Now, my little dear, all she needs is rest, and you mustn’t disturb her. You must be very quiet, and let her sleep. Here’s some nice, fresh milk the milkman has just brought. Won’t you eat some rice and milk, and then let me take off your clothes, and bathe you, and you can slip on your little nightgown that’s in your mother’s bag; and then you can lie down beside her and sleep till morning, and in the morning you’ll both be well and nicely rested.”
Lady Jane agreed to madame’s arrangements with perfect docility, but she would not leave her mother, who had fallen into a heavy stupor, and appeared to be resting comfortably.
“If you’ll please to let me sit by the bed close to mama and eat the rice and milk, I’ll take it, for I’m very hungry.”
“Certainly, my dear; you can sit there and hold her hand all the time; I’ll put your supper on this little table close by you.”
And madame bustled about, apparently overflowing with kindly attentions. She watched the childeat the rice and milk, smiling benevolently the while; then she bathed her, and put on the fine little nightgown, braided the thick silken hair, and was about to lift her up beside her mother, when Lady Jane exclaimed in a shocked voice:
“You mustn’t put me to bed yet; I haven’t said my prayers.” Her large eyes were full of solemn reproach as she slipped from madame’s arms down to the side of the bed. “Mama can’t hear them, because she’s asleep, but God can, forhenever sleeps.” Then she repeated the touching little formula that all pious mothers teach their children, adding fervently several times, “and please make dear mama well, so that we can leave this place early to-morrow morning.”
Madame smiled grimly at the last clause of the petition, and a great many curious thoughts whirled through her brain.
As the child rose from her knees her eyes fell on the basket containing the blue heron, which stood quite neglected, just where she placed it when her mother fainted.
“Oh, oh!” she cried, springing toward it. “Why, I forgot it! My Tony, my dear Tony!”
“What is it?” asked madame, starting back insurprise at the rustling sound within the basket. “Why, it’s something alive!”
“Yes, it’s alive,” said Lady Jane, with a faint smile. “It’s a bird, a blue heron. Such a nice boy gave it to me on the cars.”
“Ah,” ejaculated madame, “a boy gave it to you; some one you knew?”
“No, I never saw him before.”
“Don’t you know his name?”
“That’s funny,” and the child laughed softly to herself. “No, I don’t know his name. I never thought to ask; besides he was a stranger, and it wouldn’t have been polite, you know.”
“No, it wouldn’t have been polite,” repeated madame. “But what are you going to do with this long-legged thing?”
“It’s not athing. It’s a blue heron, and they’re very rare,” returned the child stoutly.
She had untied the cover and taken the bird out of the basket, and now stood in her nightgown and little bare feet, holding it in her arms, and stroking the feathers softly, while she glanced every moment toward the bed.
“I’m sure I don’t know what to do with him to-night. I know he’s hungry and thirsty, and I’mafraid to let him out for fear he’ll get away”; and she raised her little anxious face to madame inquiringly, for she felt overburdened with her numerous responsibilities.
“Oh, I know what we’ll do with him,” said madame, alertly—she was prepared for every emergency. “I’ve a fine large cage. It was my parrot’s cage; he was too clever to live, so he died a while ago, and his empty cage is hanging in the kitchen. I’ll get it, and you can put your bird in it for to-night, and we’ll feed him and give him water; he’ll be quite safe, so you needn’t worry about him.”
“Thank you very much,” said Lady Jane, with more politeness than warmth. “My mama will thank you, too, when she wakes.”
After seeing Tony safely put in the cage, with a saucer of rice for his supper, and a cup of water to wash it down, Lady Jane climbed up on the high bed, and not daring to kiss her mother good-night lest she might disturb her, she nestled close to her. Worn out with fatigue, she was soon sleeping soundly and peacefully.
For some time Madame Jozain sat by the bed, watching the sick stranger, and wondering who shewas, and whether her sudden illness was likely to be long and serious. “If I could keep her here, and nurse her,” she thought, “no doubt she would pay me well. I’d rather nurse than do lace; and if she’s very bad she’d better not be moved. I’d take good care of her, and make her comfortable; and if she’s no friends about here to look after her, she’d be better off with me than in the hospital. Yes, it would be cruel to send her to the hospital. Ladies don’t like to go there. It looks to me as if she’s going to have a fever,” and madame laid her fingers on the burning hand and fluttering pulse of the sleeper. “This isn’t healthy, natural sleep. I’ve nursed too many with fever, not to know. I doubt if she’ll come to her senses again. If she doesn’t no one will ever know who she is, and I may as well have the benefit of nursing her as any one else; but I must be careful, I mustn’t let her lie here and die without a doctor. That would never do. If she’s not better in the morning I’ll send for Doctor Debrot; I know he’ll be glad to come, for he never has any practice to speak of now, he’s so old and stupid; he’s a good doctor, and I’d feel safe to have him.”
After a while she got up and went out on thedoorstep to wait for Raste. The night was very quiet, a fresh breeze cooled the burning heat, the stars shone brightly and softly, and as she sat there alone and lifted her mild eyes toward the sky no one would have dreamed of the strange thoughts that were passing through her mind. Now she was neither hungry nor lonesome; a sudden excitement thrilled her through and through. She was about to engage in a project that might compensate her for all her misfortunes. The glimpse she had of money, of valuables, of possible gain, awakened all her cupidity. The only thing she cared for now was money. She hated work, she hated to be at the beck and call of those she considered beneath her. What a gratification it would be to her to refuse to do Madame Joubert’s lace, to fling it at her, and tell her to take it elsewhere! With a little ready money, she could be so independent and so comfortable. Raste had a knack of getting together a great deal in one way and another. He was lucky; if he had a little to begin with he could, perhaps, make a fortune. Then she started, and looked around as one might who suddenly found himself on the brink of an awful chasm. From within she heard the sick stranger moan and toss restlessly; then, in amoment, all was quiet again. Presently, she began to debate in her mind how far she should admit Raste to her confidence. Should she let him know about the money and valuables she had hidden? The key in her bosom seemed to burn like a coal of fire. No, she would not tell him about the money. While taking the child’s nightgown from the bag, she had discovered the railroad tickets, two baggage checks, and a roll of notes and loose change in a little compartment of the bag. He would think that was all; and she would never tell him of the other.
At that moment, she heard him coming down the street, singing a rollicking song. So she got up, and hobbled toward him, for she feared he might waken the sleepers. He was a great overgrown, red-faced, black-eyed fellow, coarse and strong, with a loud, dashing kind of beauty, and he was very observing, and very shrewd. She often said he had all his father’s cunning and penetration, therefore she must disguise her plans carefully.
“Hallo, mum,” he said, as he saw her limping toward him, her manner eager, her face rather pale and excited; “what’s up now?” It was unusual for her to meet him in that way.
“Hush, hush, Raste. Don’t make a noise. Sucha strange thing has happened since you went out!” said madame, in a low voice. “Sit down here on the steps, and I’ll tell you.”
Then briefly, and without much show of interest, she told him of the arrival of the strangers, and of the young woman’s sudden illness.
“And they’re in there asleep,” he said, pointing with his thumb in the direction of the room.
“That’s a fine thing for you to do—to saddle yourself with a sick woman and a child.”
“What could I do?” asked madame indignantly. “You wouldn’t have me turn a fainting woman into the street? It won’t cost anything for her to sleep in my bed to-night.”
“What is she like? Is she one of the poor sort? Did you look over her traps? Has she got any money?” he asked eagerly.
“Oh, Raste, Raste; as if I searched her pockets! She’s beautifully dressed, and so is the child. She’s got a fine watch and chain, and when I opened her bag to get the child’s nightgown, I saw that it was fitted up with silver.”
“What luck!” exclaimed Raste brightly. “Then she’s a swell, and to-morrow when she goes away she’ll give you as much as a ‘fiver.’”
“I don’t believe she’ll be able to go to-morrow. I think she’s down for a long sickness. If she’s no better in the morning, I want you to cross and find Dr. Debrot”
“Old Debrot? That’s fun! Why, he’s no good—he’ll kill her.”
“Nonsense; you know he’s one of the best doctors in the city.”
“Sometimes, yes. But you can’t keep the woman here, if she’s sick; you’ll have to send her to the hospital. And you didn’t find out her name, nor where she belongs? Suppose she dies on your hands? What then?”
“If I take care of her and she dies, I can’t help it; and I may as well have her things as any one else.”
“But has she got anything worth having? Enough to pay you for trouble and expense?” he asked. Then he whistled softly, and added, “Oh, mum, you’re a deep one, but I see through you.”
“I don’t know what you mean, boy,” said madame, indignantly. “Of course, if I nurse the woman, and give up my bed to her, I expect to be paid. I hate to send her to the hospital, and I don’tknow her name, nor the name of her friends. So what can I do?”
“Do just what you’ve planned to do, mum. Go right ahead, but be careful and cover up your tracks. Do you understand?”
Madame made no reply to this disinterested piece of advice, but sat silently thinking for some time. At last she said in a persuasive tone, “Didn’t you bring some money from the levee? I’ve had no supper, and I intend to sit up all night with that poor woman. Can’t you go to Joubert’s and get me some bread and cheese?”
“Money, money—look here!” and the young scapegrace pulled out a handful of silver. “That’s what I’ve brought.”
An hour later madame and Raste sat in the little kitchen, chatting over their supper in the most friendly way; while the sick woman and the child still slept profoundly in the small front room.