IN THE HOSPITAL.
Gilbert had obeyed Cagliostro's injunction to go to the Groscaillou
Hospital to attend to a patient.
At this period hospitals were far from being organized as at present,
particularly military ones like this which was receiving the injured in
the massacre, while the dead were bundled into the river to save burial
expenses and hide the extent of the crime of Lafayette and Bailly.
Gilbert was welcomed by the overworked surgeons amid the disorder which
opposed their desires being fulfilled.
Suddenly in the maze, he heard a voice which he knew but had not
expected there.
"Ange Pitou," he exclaimed, seeing the peasant in National Guards
uniform by a bed; "what about Billet?"
"He is here," was the answer, as he showed a motionless body. "His head
is split to the jaw."
"It is a serious wound," said Gilbert, examining the hurt. "You must
find me a private room; this is a friend of mine," he added to the male
nurses.
There were no private rooms but they gave up the laundry to Dr.
Gilbert's special patient. Billet groaned as they carried him thither.
"Ah," said the doctor, "never did an exclamation of pleasure give me
such joy as that wrung by pain; he lives--that is the main point."
It was not till he had finished the dressing that he asked the news of
Pitou.
The matter was simple. Since the disappearance of Catherine, whom
Isidore Charny had had transported to Paris with her babe, and the
departure of Billet to town also, Mother Billet, whom we have never
presented as a strong-minded woman, fell into an increasing state of
idiocy. Dr. Raynal said that nothing would rouse her from this torpor
but the sight of her daughter.
Without waiting for the cue, Pitou started to Paris. He seemed
predestined to arrive there at great events.
The first time, he was in time to take a hand in the storming of the
Bastile; the next, to help the Federation of 1790; and now he arrived
for the Massacre of the Champ de Mars. He heard that it had all come
about over a petition drawn up by Dr. Gilbert and presented by Billet to
the signers.
Pitou learnt at the doctor's house that he had come home, but there were
no tidings of the farmer.
On going to the scene of blood, Pitou happened on the nearly lifeless
body which would have been hurled in the river but for his
interposition.
It was thus that Pitou hailed the doctor in the hospital and the wounded
man had his chances improved by being in such skillful hands as his
friend Gilbert's.
As Billet could not be taken to his wife's bedside, Catherine was more
than ever to be desired there. Where was she? The only way to reach her
would be through the Charny family.
Happily Ange had been so warmly greeted by her when he took Sebastian to
her house that he did not hesitate to call again.
He went there with the doctor in the latter's carriage; but the house
was dark and dismal. The count and countess had gone to their country
seat at Boursonnes.
"Excuse me, my friend," said the doctor to the janitor who had received
the National Guards captain with no friendliness, "but can you not give
me a piece of information in your master's absence?"
"I beg pardon, sir," said the porter recognizing the tone of a superior
in this blandness and politeness.
He opened the door and in his nightcap and undress came to take the
orders of the carriage-gentleman.
"My friend, do you know anything about a young woman from the country in
whom the count and countess are taking interest?"
"Miss Catherine?" asked the porter.
"The same," replied Gilbert.
"Yes, sir; my lord and my lady sent me twice to see her and learn if
she stood in need of anything, but the poor girl, whom I do not believe
to be well off, no more than her dear little child, said she wanted for
nothing."
Pitou sighed heavily at the mention of the dear little child.
"Well, my friend," continued the doctor, "poor Catherine's father was
wounded on the Field of Mars, and her mother, Mrs. Billet, is dying out
at Villers Cotterets, which sad news we want to break to her. Will you
kindly give us her address?"
"Oh, poor girl, may heaven assist her. She was unhappy enough before.
She is living at Villedavray, your honor, in the main street. I cannot
give you the number, but it is in front of the public well."
"That is straight enough," said Pitou; "I can find it."
"Thanks, my friend," said Gilbert, slipping a silver piece into the
man's hand.
"There was no need of that, sir, for Christians ought to do a good
turn amongst themselves," said the janitor, doffing his nightcap and
returning indoors.
"I am off for Villedavray," said Pitou.
He was always ready to go anywhere on a kind errand.
"Do you know the way?"
"No; but somebody will tell me."
"You have a golden heart and steel muscles," said the doctor laughing;
"but you want rest and had better start to-morrow."
"But it is a pressing matter----"
"On neither side is there urgency," corrected the doctor; "Billet's
state is serious but not mortal unless by mischance. Mother Billet may
linger ten days yet."
"She don't look it, but, of course, you know best."
"We may as well leave poor Catherine another night of repose and
ignorance; a night's rest is of importance to the unfortunate, Pitou."
"Then, where are we going, doctor?" asked the peasant, yielding to the
argument.
"I shall give you a room you have slept in before; and to-morrow at six,
my horses shall be put to the carriage to take you to Villedavray."
"Lord, is it fifty leagues off?"
"Nay, it is only two or three."
"Then I can cover it in an hour or two--I can lick it up like an egg."
"Yes, but Catherine can lick up like an egg the distance from
Villedavray to Paris and the eighteen leagues from Paris to Villers
Cotterets?"
"True: excuse me, doctor, for being a fool. Talking of fools--no, I mean
the other way about--how is Sebastian?"
"Wonderfully well, you shall see him to-morrow."
"Still at college? I shall be downright glad."
"And so shall he, for he loves you with all his heart."
At six, he started in the carriage and by seven was at Catherine's door.
She opened it and shrieked on seeing Pitou:
"I know--my mother is dead!"
She turned pale and leaned against the wall.
"No; but you will have to hasten to see her before she goes," replied
the messenger.
This brief exchange of words said so much in little that Catherine was
at once placed face to face with her affliction.
"That is not all," added the peasant.
"What's the other misfortune?" queried Catherine, in the sharp tone of
one who has exhausted the measure of human ails and has no fear of an
overflow.
"Master Billet was dangerously wounded on the parade-grounds."
"Ah," said she, much less affected by this news than the other.
"So I says to myself, and Dr. Gilbert bears me out: 'Miss Catherine
will pay a visit to her father at the hospital on the way down to her
mother's.'"
"But you, Pitou?" queried the girl.
"While you go by stage-coach to help Mother Billet to make her long
journey, I will stay by the farmer. You understand that I must stick to
him who has never a soul to look after him, see?"
Pitou spoke the words with that angelic simplicity of his, with no idea
that he was painting his whole devoted nature.
"You have a kind heart, Ange," said she, giving him her hand. "Come and
kiss my little Isidore."
She walked into the house, prettier than ever, though she was clad in
black, which drew another sigh from Pitou.
She had one little room, overlooking the garden, its furniture a bed for
the mother and a cradle for the infant. It was sleeping.
She pulled a muslin curtain aside for him to see it.
"Oh, the sweet little angel!" exclaimed Pitou.
He knelt as it were to an angel, and kissed the tiny hand. He was
speedily rewarded for his devotion for he felt Catherine's tresses on
his head and her lips on his forehead. The mother was returning the
caress given her son.
"Thank you, good Pitou," she said; "since the last kiss he had from his
father, I alone have fondled the pet."
"Oh, Miss Catherine!" muttered Pitou, dazzled and thrilled by the kiss
as by an electrical shock.
And yet it was purely what a mother's caress may contain of the holy and
grateful.
Ten minutes afterwards, Catherine, little Isidore and Pitou were rolling
in the doctor's carriage towards the hospital, where she handed the
child to the peasant with as much or more trust as she would have had in
a brother, and walked in at the door.
Dr. Gilbert was by his patient's side. Little change had taken place.
Despite the beginning of fever, the face was still deadly pale from the
great loss of blood and one eye and the left cheek were swelling.
Catherine dropped on her knees by the bedside, and said as she raised
her hands to heaven,
"O my God, Thou knowest that my utmost wish has been for my father's
life to be spared."
This was as much as could be expected from the girl whose lover's life
had been attempted by her father.
The patient shuddered at this voice, and his breathing was more hurried;
he opened his eyes and his glance, wandering for a space over the room,
was fixed on the woman. His hand made a move to repulse this figure
which he doubtless took to be a vision. Their glances met, and Gilbert
was horrified to see the hatred which shot towards each, rather than
affection.
She rose and went to find Pitou by the door. He was on all fours,
playing with the babe.
She caught up her boy with a roughness more like a lioness than a woman,
and pressed it to her bosom, crying,
"My child, oh, my child!"
In the outburst were all the mother's anguish, the widow's wails, and
the woman's pangs.
Pitou proposed seeing her to the stage, but she repulsed him, saying:
"Your place is here."
Pitou knew nothing but to obey when Catherine commanded.