AN INTERRUPTED JOURNEY
For a 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,” she said, 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 her _armoire_, 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?” implored the 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 child eat 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, for _he_ never 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 in surprise 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 a _thing_. 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’m afraid 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 she was, 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 the doorstep 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 a moment, 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. Such a 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’t know 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.