Left alone with Madame Bastien, Henri David remained silent for several
minutes as if to collect his thoughts, then, turning to his companion,
he said, earnestly:
"I wish, madame, that you could see in me a physician who is devoting
himself to a dangerous but by no means hopeless case. I should like to
receive from you a full account of all the events which have taken place
since you first noticed the change in your son's character which
distresses you so much. Our friend, Doctor Dufour, has already given me
some information on the subject. But what you can tell me, madame, will
doubtless enlighten me still more."
Marie complied with his request, but when she came to the description of
the scene in the forest, she hesitated and turned pale, and her distress
was so apparent that Henri David exclaimed:
"What is the matter, madame? This emotion, these tears--"
"Ah, monsieur, I should be unworthy of your generous aid if I concealed
any portion of the truth from you, no matter how terrible it may be."
"What do you mean, madame?"
"Ah, monsieur," murmured Madame Bastien, with eyes downcast, "in a
paroxysm of fever, or delirium, or I know not what, he lost his senses
completely and went at night--"
"At night?"
"To the forest."
And as Madame Bastien again paused with a shudder, David repeated:
"To the forest?"
"Yes, to the forest, where he concealed himself behind a tree to shoot
M. de Pont Brillant."
"A murderer!" exclaimed David, turning pale, "a murderer at sixteen."
"Have pity, monsieur, have pity," cried Marie, stretching out her hands
imploringly.
"Do not forsake him," cried the unhappy woman, as if fearing this
revelation would cause David to renounce his generous undertaking.
"Alas, monsieur, the greater my misfortune, the more desperate my
straits, the more you should pity me! Once more I beseech you not to
forsake my son. My only hope is in you. What will become of me? What
will become of him if you do? Besides, I tell you he was not in his
right mind. He was delirious; he was mad!"
"You need have no fears of my abandoning your son, madame. Difficulties
do not discourage me; they only impel me to renewed efforts. But you are
mistaken in supposing that Frederick was insane. The deed was the
inevitable result of the hatred that is consuming him."
"Oh, no, no, I cannot believe--"
"On the contrary, the conviction should reassure instead of alarming
you. Frederick's animosity reached its highest pitch at that time, and
we now know the full extent of the malady. The cause of this hatred is
still shrouded in mystery, but I feel confident that we shall soon
fathom it, and then the cure will be comparatively easy. We have many
things in our favour. Frederick's tender years, his antecedents, your
tender solicitude, my constant vigilance. All that is noble and generous
in your son is paralysed temporarily, but rest assured that, purified by
the very ordeal through which he is now passing, your son will some day
not only realise but even surpass your most sanguine hopes."
Henri David's tone was so earnest and convincing, there was such an
expression of deep interest on his manly face, that Madame Bastien felt
hope once more spring up in her heart, and she exclaimed, with profound
emotion:
"The only thanks, monsieur, that I can give you--"
"Thanks, you owe me no thanks, madame," interrupted Henri David. "Our
friend showed you my letter, and you know that in the work I am about to
undertake I hope to find distraction from cruel grief, and that I also
regard it as a sacred tribute to the memory of a deeply lamented
brother."
"I shall not insist, monsieur, particularly as my words would so
inadequately express my feelings, but I must say one word in relation to
a rather painful subject," added Madame Bastien, lowering her eyes and
blushing deeply. "I must ask your pardon in advance for the modest life
you will be obliged to lead here, and I--"
"Permit me to interrupt you, here and now, madame," interposed David,
smiling. "I have travelled a great deal, through uncivilised as well as
civilised countries, so I am half sailor, half soldier, in the
simplicity of my habits."
"But this is not all, monsieur," continued Madame Bastien, with
increasing embarrassment. "I live alone most of the time. My husband's
business keeps him away from home a great deal, but sometimes he spends
several days here."
"Permit me to interrupt you once more, madame," said David, touched by
Madame Bastien's evident embarrassment, particularly as he divined what
she was about to say to him. "Our mutual friend, the doctor, has told me
something of M. Bastien's habits, and you will find me anxious to do
everything possible to prevent my presence here from disturbing that
gentleman's habits. I shall also do everything in my power to win his
toleration, if not his regard; for, my work once begun, it would
distress me very much to see it suddenly interrupted. In short, as I
cannot remain here without M. Bastien's permission, I shall do my best
to win his toleration, and any concessions which my self-respect will
permit of will, I assure you, be cheerfully made."
Madame Bastien was deeply impressed by M. David's delicacy. She could
not doubt that Doctor Dufour had told his friend of M. Bastien's
habitual coarseness, and that the generous man who was consecrating
himself to Frederick's salvation with such disinterested devotion had
made up his mind in advance to many disagreeable and even humiliating
experiences, though his pecuniary independence and his nobility of
character made him superior.
Marie was the first to break the silence that ensued.
"M. David," she said, with gentle dignity, "will you let me show you to
the room I must beg you to occupy here?"
David bowed, and followed her in silence.