CHAPTER X.
DR JOHN.
Madame Beck was a most consistent character; forbearing with all theworld, and tender to no part of it. Her own children drew her into nodeviation from the even tenor of her stoic calm. She was solicitousabout her family, vigilant for their interests and physical well-being;but she never seemed to know the wish to take her little children uponher lap, to press their rosy lips with her own, to gather them in agenial embrace, to shower on them softly the benignant caress, theloving word.
I have watched her sometimes sitting in the garden, viewing the littlebees afar off, as they walked in a distant alley with Trinette, their_bonne_; in her mien spoke care and prudence. I know she often ponderedanxiously what she called "leur avenir;" but if the youngest, a punyand delicate but engaging child, chancing to spy her, broke from itsnurse, and toddling down the walk, came all eager and laughing andpanting to clasp her knee, Madame would just calmly put out one hand,so as to prevent inconvenient concussion from the child's sudden onset:"Prends garde, mon enfant!" she would say unmoved, patiently permit itto stand near her a few moments, and then, without smile or kiss, orendearing syllable, rise and lead it back to Trinette.
Her demeanour to the eldest girl was equally characteristic in anotherway. This was a vicious child. "Quelle peste que cette Desiree! Quelpoison que cet enfant la!" were the expressions dedicated to her, alikein kitchen and in schoolroom. Amongst her other endowments she boastedan exquisite skill in the art, of provocation, sometimes driving her_bonne_ and the servants almost wild. She would steal to their attics,open their drawers and boxes, wantonly tear their best caps and soiltheir best shawls; she would watch her opportunity to get at the buffetof the salle-a-manger, where she would smash articles of porcelain orglass--or to the cupboard of the storeroom, where she would plunder thepreserves, drink the sweet wine, break jars and bottles, and socontrive as to throw the onus of suspicion on the cook and thekitchen-maid. All this when Madame saw, and of which when she receivedreport, her sole observation, uttered with matchless serenity, was:
"Desiree a besoin d'une surveillance toute particuliere." Accordinglyshe kept this promising olive-branch a good deal at her side. Neveronce, I believe, did she tell her faithfully of her faults, explain theevil of such habits, and show the results which must thence ensue.Surveillance must work the whole cure. It failed of course. Desiree waskept in some measure from the servants, but she teased and pillaged hermamma instead. Whatever belonging to Madame's work-table or toilet shecould lay her hands on, she stole and hid. Madame saw all this, but shestill pretended not to see: she had not rectitude of soul to confrontthe child with her vices. When an article disappeared whose valuerendered restitution necessary, she would profess to think that Desireehad taken it away in play, and beg her to restore it. Desiree was notto be so cheated: she had learned to bring falsehood to the aid oftheft, and would deny having touched the brooch, ring, or scissors.Carrying on the hollow system, the mother would calmly assume an air ofbelief, and afterwards ceaselessly watch and dog the child till shetracked her: to her hiding-places--some hole in the garden-wall--somechink or cranny in garret or out-house. This done, Madame would sendDesiree out for a walk with her _bonne_, and profit by her absence torob the robber. Desiree proved herself the true daughter of her astuteparent, by never suffering either her countenance or manner to betraythe least sign of mortification on discovering the loss.
The second child, Fifine, was said to be like its dead father.Certainly, though the mother had given it her healthy frame, her blueeye and ruddy cheek, not from her was derived its moral being. It wasan honest, gleeful little soul: a passionate, warm-tempered, bustlingcreature it was too, and of the sort likely to blunder often intoperils and difficulties. One day it bethought itself to fall from topto bottom of a steep flight of stone steps; and when Madame, hearingthe noise (she always heard every noise), issued from thesalle-a-manger and picked it up, she said quietly,--"Cet enfant a un oscasse."
At first we hoped this was not the case. It was, however, but too true:one little plump arm hung powerless.
"Let Meess" (meaning me) "take her," said Madame; "et qu'on aille toutde suite chercher un fiacre."
In a _fiacre_ she promptly, but with admirable coolness andself-possession, departed to fetch a surgeon.
It appeared she did not find the family-surgeon at home; but thatmattered not: she sought until she laid her hand on a substitute to hermind, and brought him back with her. Meantime I had cut the child'ssleeve from its arm, undressed and put it to bed.
We none of us, I suppose (by _we_ I mean the bonne, the cook, theportress, and myself, all which personages were now gathered in thesmall and heated chamber), looked very scrutinizingly at the new doctorwhen he came into the room. I, at least, was taken up with endeavouringto soothe Fifine; whose cries (for she had good lungs) were appallingto hear. These cries redoubled in intensity as the stranger approachedher bed; when he took her up, "Let alone!" she cried passionately, inher broken English (for she spoke English as did the other children)."I will not you: I will Dr. Pillule!"
"And Dr. Pillule is my very good friend," was the answer, in perfectEnglish; "but he is busy at a place three leagues off, and I am come inhis stead. So now, when we get a little calmer, we must commencebusiness; and we will soon have that unlucky little arm bandaged and inright order."
Hereupon he called for a glass of _eau sucree_, fed her with someteaspoonfuls of the sweet liquid (Fifine was a frank gourmande; anybodycould win her heart through her palate), promised her more when theoperation should be over, and promptly went to work. Some assistancebeing needed, he demanded it of the cook, a robust, strong-armed woman;but she, the portress, and the nurse instantly fled. I did not like totouch that small, tortured limb, but thinking there was no alternative,my hand was already extended to do what was requisite. I wasanticipated; Madame Beck had put out her own hand: hers was steadywhile mine trembled.
"Ca vaudra mieux," said the doctor, turning from me to her.
He showed wisdom in his choice. Mine would have been feigned stoicism,forced fortitude. Hers was neither forced nor feigned.
"Merci, Madame; tres bien, fort bien!" said the operator when he hadfinished. "Voila un sang-froid bien opportun, et qui vaut mille elansde sensibilite deplacee."
He was pleased with her firmness, she with his compliment. It waslikely, too, that his whole general appearance, his voice, mien, andmanner, wrought impressions in his favour. Indeed, when you looked wellat him, and when a lamp was brought in--for it was evening and nowwaxing dusk--you saw that, unless Madame Beck had been less than woman,it could not well be otherwise. This young doctor (he _was_ young) hadno common aspect. His stature looked imposingly tall in that littlechamber, and amidst that group of Dutch-made women; his profile wasclear, fine and expressive: perhaps his eye glanced from face to facerather too vividly, too quickly, and too often; but it had a mostpleasant character, and so had his mouth; his chin was full, cleft,Grecian, and perfect. As to his smile, one could not in a hurry make upone's mind as to the descriptive epithet it merited; there wassomething in it that pleased, but something too that brought surging upinto the mind all one's foibles and weak points: all that could lay oneopen to a laugh. Yet Fifine liked this doubtful smile, and thought theowner genial: much as he had hurt her, she held out her hand to bid hima friendly good-night. He patted the little hand kindly, and then heand Madame went down-stairs together; she talking in her highest tideof spirits and volubility, he listening with an air of good-naturedamenity, dashed with that unconscious roguish archness I find itdifficult to describe.
I noticed that though he spoke French well, he spoke English better; hehad, too, an English complexion, eyes, and form. I noticed more. As hepassed me in leaving the room, turning his face in my direction onemoment--not to address me, but to speak to Madame, yet so standing,that I almost necessarily looked up at him--a recollection which hadbeen struggling to form in my memory, since the first moment I heardhis voice, started up perfec
ted. This was the very gentleman to whom Ihad spoken at the bureau; who had helped me in the matter of the trunk;who had been my guide through the dark, wet park. Listening, as hepassed down the long vestibule out into the street, I recognised hisvery tread: it was the same firm and equal stride I had followed underthe dripping trees.
* * * * *
It was, to be concluded that this young surgeon-physician's first visitto the Rue Fossette would be the last. The respectable Dr. Pillulebeing expected home the next day, there appeared no reason why histemporary substitute should again represent him; but the Fates hadwritten their decree to the contrary.
Dr. Pillule had been summoned to see a rich old hypochondriac at theantique university town of Bouquin-Moisi, and upon his prescribingchange of air and travel as remedies, he was retained to accompany thetimid patient on a tour of some weeks; it but remained, therefore, forthe new doctor to continue his attendance at the Rue Fossette.
I often saw him when he came; for Madame would not trust the littleinvalid to Trinette, but required me to spend much of my time in thenursery. I think he was skilful. Fifine recovered rapidly under hiscare, yet even her convalescence did not hasten his dismissal. Destinyand Madame Beck seemed in league, and both had ruled that he shouldmake deliberate acquaintance with the vestibule, the private staircaseand upper chambers of the Rue Fossette.
No sooner did Fifine emerge from his hands than Desiree declaredherself ill. That possessed child had a genius for simulation, andcaptivated by the attentions and indulgences of a sick-room, she cameto the conclusion that an illness would perfectly accommodate hertastes, and took her bed accordingly. She acted well, and her motherstill better; for while the whole case was transparent to Madame Beckas the day, she treated it with an astonishingly well-assured air ofgravity and good faith.
What surprised me was, that Dr. John (so the young Englishman hadtaught Fifine to call him, and we all took from her the habit ofaddressing him by this name, till it became an established custom, andhe was known by no other in the Rue Fossette)--that Dr. John consentedtacitly to adopt Madame's tactics, and to fall in with her manoeuvres.He betrayed, indeed, a period of comic doubt, cast one or two rapidglances from the child to the mother, indulged in an interval ofself-consultation, but finally resigned himself with a good grace toplay his part in the farce. Desiree eat like a raven, gambolled day andnight in her bed, pitched tents with the sheets and blankets, loungedlike a Turk amidst pillows and bolsters, diverted herself with throwingher shoes at her bonne and grimacing at her sisters--over-flowed, inshort, with unmerited health and evil spirits; only languishing whenher mamma and the physician paid their diurnal visit. Madame Beck, Iknew, was glad, at any price, to have her daughter in bed out of theway of mischief; but I wondered that Dr. John did not tire of thebusiness.
Every day, on this mere pretext of a motive, he gave punctualattendance; Madame always received him with the same empressement, thesame sunshine for himself, the same admirably counterfeited air ofconcern for her child. Dr. John wrote harmless prescriptions for thepatient, and viewed her mother with a shrewdly sparkling eye. Madamecaught his rallying looks without resenting them--she had too much goodsense for that. Supple as the young doctor seemed, one could notdespise him--this pliant part was evidently not adopted in the designto curry favour with his employer: while he liked his office at thepensionnat, and lingered strangely about the Rue Fossette, he wasindependent, almost careless in his carriage there; and yet, too, hewas often thoughtful and preoccupied.
It was not perhaps my business to observe the mystery of his bearing,or search out its origin or aim; but, placed as I was, I could hardlyhelp it. He laid himself open to my observation, according to mypresence in the room just that degree of notice and consequence aperson of my exterior habitually expects: that is to say, about what isgiven to unobtrusive articles of furniture, chairs of ordinary joiner'swork, and carpets of no striking pattern. Often, while waiting forMadame, he would muse, smile, watch, or listen like a man who thinkshimself alone. I, meantime, was free to puzzle over his countenance andmovements, and wonder what could be the meaning of that peculiarinterest and attachment--all mixed up with doubt and strangeness, andinexplicably ruled by some presiding spell--which wedded him to thisdemi-convent, secluded in the built-up core of a capital. He, Ibelieve, never remembered that I had eyes in my head, much less a brainbehind them.
Nor would he ever have found this out, but that one day, while he satin the sunshine and I was observing the colouring of his hair,whiskers, and complexion--the whole being of such a tone as a stronglight brings out with somewhat perilous force (indeed I recollect I wasdriven to compare his beamy head in my thoughts to that of the "goldenimage" which Nebuchadnezzar the king had set up), an idea new, sudden,and startling, riveted my attention with an over-mastering strength andpower of attraction. I know not to this day how I looked at him: theforce of surprise, and also of conviction, made me forget myself; and Ionly recovered wonted consciousness when I saw that his notice wasarrested, and that it had caught my movement in a clear little ovalmirror fixed in the side of the window recess--by the aid of whichreflector Madame often secretly spied persons walking in the gardenbelow. Though of so gay and sanguine a temperament, he was not withouta certain nervous sensitiveness which made him ill at ease under adirect, inquiring gaze. On surprising me thus, he turned and said, in atone which, though courteous, had just so much dryness in it as to marka shade of annoyance, as well as to give to what was said the characterof rebuke, "Mademoiselle does not spare me: I am not vain enough tofancy that it is my merits which attract her attention; it must then besome defect. Dare I ask--what?"
I was confounded, as the reader may suppose, yet not with anirrecoverable confusion; being conscious that it was from no emotion ofincautious admiration, nor yet in a spirit of unjustifiableinquisitiveness, that I had incurred this reproof. I might have clearedmyself on the spot, but would not. I did not speak. I was not in thehabit of speaking to him. Suffering him, then, to think what he choseand accuse me of what he would, I resumed some work I had dropped, andkept my head bent over it during the remainder of his stay. There is aperverse mood of the mind which is rather soothed than irritated bymisconstruction; and in quarters where we can never be rightly known,we take pleasure, I think, in being consummately ignored. What honestman, on being casually taken for a housebreaker, does not feel rathertickled than vexed at the mistake?