That is what they did; but the first who came, and the second, brought
fresh courage; for the Baron--"would most likely be all right again,
before the day was over"; our child was "virtually well"; and from next
door-"better!" was the rapturous news. The third physician, too, was
pleased with Fontenette's case, and we began at once to send the night-
watchers to their rest by turns.
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!"
Her ear, quicker than mine, heard some sign within and she left me. But
she was back almost at once, whispering:
"She knows you're here, and says she has a message to her husband which
she can give only to you."
We gazed into each other's eyes. "Go in," she said.
As I entered, Senda tenderly disengaged herself, went out, and closed the
door.
I drew near in silence and she began at once to speak, bidding me take the
chair Senda had left, and with a tender smile thanking me for coming.
Then she said faintly and slowly, but with an unfaltering voice, "I want
you to know one or two things so that if it ever should be my husband's
affliction to find out how foolish and undutiful I have been, you can tell
them to him. Tell him my wrongdoing was, from first to last, almost
totally--almost totally----"
"Do you mean--intangible?"
"Yes, yes, intangible. Then if he should say that the intangible part is
the priceless part--the life, the beauty, the very essence of the whole
matter--isn't it strange that we women are slower than men to see that--
tell him I saw it, saw it and confessed it when for his sake I was
slipping away from him by stealth out of life up to my merciful Judge.
"I may not be saying these things in their right order, but--tell him I
wish he'd marry again; only let him first be sure the woman loves him as
truly and deeply as he is sure to love her. I find I've never truly loved
him till now. If he doesn't know it don't ever tell him; but tell him I
died loving him and blessing him--for the unearned glorious love he gave
me all my days. That's all. That's all to him. But I would like to send
one word to"--she lifted her hand--
"Across the street?" I murmured.
Her eyes said yes. "Tell _him_--you may never see the right time for it,
but if you do--tell him I craved his forgiveness."