The next moment she was on her knees beside the bed, her arms round
the trembling figure.
“But of course it was real!” she declared vigorously. “I tell you I
watched it climb up the hangings and didn’t dare to speak for fear of
waking you. There, it’s quite gone. We’ll set a trap and catch it. I
promise you won’t see it again!”
The unnerved woman clung to her, weeping hysterically.
“It always comes--again and again. I have told her, but she can’t, she
won’t believe me. At last I’ve become afraid to say anything,
because--because it is so plain what she thinks!”
Understanding flooded the dark places of Catherine’s mind. This, then,
was one of Germaine’s delusions--mice running unchecked about her bed,
while her poor bewildered brain strove to deny the evidence of her
senses! What incredible negligence did it reveal, what wilful refusal
to face facts? Or was there some much worse explanation?
For a second it seemed as though a curtain had been lifted, giving a
glimpse of a monstrous scheme to cast doubt upon the invalid’s sanity.
Here was a single instance of it; there might be others. What if an
organized attempt was going on to overthrow the insecure balance of
this poor woman’s reason?
Instantly common sense pulled her round. The idea was too utterly
fantastic. Carelessness, yes, and inconceivable stupidity, but surely
nothing more grave.
Still, the known facts were bad enough, and must be dealt with at
once. While she fetched smelling-salts and eau-de-Cologne, chattering
lightly and treating the whole affair as a joke, her mind was busy
planning a surprise-attack on the offender now due to return. High
time someone took matters in hand, but at the thought of facing Jeanne
she inwardly trembled.
Presently she contrived without being noticed to lift the bed-valance
and peer at the floor beneath. What met her eye filled her with
righteous anger. Now she was no longer afraid.
Ten minutes later a hurried step approached, and the familiar figure
stood in the door.
“Madame is comfortable? She has not required anything?”
The invalid summoned a tremulous smile.
“No, no, Jeanne! I have not needed you,” she hastened to declare.
The maid’s nostrils dilated, sniffing the eau-de-Cologne. Then she
went back into the dressing-room to remove her wraps. Not heeding the
imploring hand stretched out to stop her, Catherine walked straight
into the adjoining room and closed the door.
“Jeanne,” she said abruptly, “there are mice in madame’s room.
Something must be done about it at once.”
The woman wheeled round in the act of taking off her hat. Her eyes
glared with sudden annoyance.
“Mice?” she repeated shortly. “Impossible! Madame has been telling you
that story.”
“Not at all,” retorted Catherine. “I myself have just seen a mouse
crawling across madame’s bed. There is no doubt about it.”
For several seconds the two regarded each other fixedly. Then with a
face hard as iron Jeanne turned deliberately and hung her coat upon a
peg. She was silent so long that Catherine began to think she was not
going to reply. Once more she started to remove her round, dark hat;
then, changing her mind, left it on her head. When at last she spoke
it was with great restraint.
“Mademoiselle will pardon me if I find it difficult to believe her. In
all the years I have lived in this apartment I have never set eyes on
a mouse.”
“I’m sorry you think I’m lying,” returned the girl with asperity. “In
any case I must insist on your setting a trap in a place which I will
show you. Madame is being terrified half out of her senses.”
The woman darted a glance at her full of hatred and scorn. If she was
intimidated, she showed no sign of it.
“_Jamais!_” Catherine heard her mutter under her breath. “_Jamais!_ I
cannot think what you mean to insinuate.”
“Simply this, Jeanne. Quite obviously that room in there has not been
properly cleaned for weeks, months even. I want you to come now and
look under the bed. There has been something sticky there, and the
mice have gnawed the carpet bare in patches.”
The sallow face swelled till the eyes were reduced to pinpoints. On
the cheek-bones areas of mottled red appeared.
“Come, please, and let me show you what I mean,” said Catherine,
holding open the door.
After a brief hesitation, still wearing her hat, the woman obeyed,
stooped to examine the spot Catherine indicated, and straightened up,
her features set in a mutinous mask.
“I see nothing beyond a few drops of spilled medicine. Madame herself
knows whose fault it is that no one but me is allowed to do her room.
I slave from morning to night; when I go to bed, I am often too tired
to sleep. I am a human being, not a machine! No other person would do
for madame what I do; but if my efforts are not appreciated, if I am
to be criticized and called to account over trifles, it is time to
give up. It is plain that mademoiselle came here for the purpose of
setting her cousin against me!”
“Nothing of the sort, Jeanne. I only want you to remove whatever it is
that is attracting mice. That is all.”
If Catherine spoke mildly, it was to spare Germaine, whose white face
was quivering with agitated distress. Nothing could be gained by
contradicting the maid, though what the valance concealed was not
spilled medicine, but particles of food. She had even detected the
odour of cheese.…
An hour later Catherine sat in the study, trying to think calmly.
Difficult as it was to conceive of a well-trained servant leaving
scraps of food upon the floor, it was equally incredible that the
thing could have been done purposely. What was one to believe? One
thing alone was certain. She had completely lost faith in Jeanne, whom
she now regarded as a bad, if not dangerous, influence for Germaine.
Devoted she might be, but for all that she was undermining the
invalid’s confidence in herself, fostering, whether by ignorance or
design, the poor creature’s fear of encroaching insanity. As things
were, it was worse than hopeless to attempt to nurse the patient back
to health.
“Somehow or other she must be got rid of!” she told herself, still
shaken by indignation. “Perhaps this business will open the way. A
thief; and incompetent into the bargain!”
She could not help feeling a little exultant over the recent scene.
After this Jeanne must either mend her ways or go. She hoped it would
be the latter.
However, she had much to learn, as the evening was to prove.
Amid the staid magnificence of the _salle à manger_ she ate her
solitary meal. Speculatively she looked round at the three fine
pictures on the walls, at the tall, gold candelabra which once had
adorned a palace. More objects easily convertible into money. Were the
servants she now thought of as rogues merely waiting for her visit to
be over before laying hands on these treasures? Well, they would wait
in vain. It was her fixed intention to foil them at that or any other
game they might be playing.
All at once her thoughts veered to the little _notaire_, A. Blom. What
if he were in league with this pair, aiding them in disposing of their
plunder? His visit here that night three weeks ago might have been to
cast his appraising eye over things and possibly to take something off
with him. Jeanne’s secret conferences with the man took on a new
meaning. She wondered if there were any way of finding out the truth.
It was usual on the evenings she spent at home for Jeanne to call her
when Mme. Bender was ready for bed, so that she could go in to say
good night. However, the hour passed and there was no summons. This
did not astonish her, for the feeling between Jeanne and herself was
naturally strained; but when ten o’clock struck and nothing had
happened she put down her book and went toward her cousin’s bedroom.
The door was shut, but from the other side came sounds of tempestuous
weeping.
She halted, full of consternation, thinking the strangled sobs came
from Germaine, but a moment’s listening informed her that it was
Jeanne herself who was indulging in the violent outburst. Somehow she
had not expected this. A second later words reached her, stormy with
protest.
“No, madame, it is useless! All is finished, all, all! I swear to you
I am going away, at once; I shall pack to-night and leave quite early
in the morning. Nothing can stop me. Eduardo, too, will go. Madame
will be left absolutely alone, to face the doctors, the nurses, the
strange enemies who will swoop down upon her. I have done my utmost,
I; but if madame distrusts me, then my time with her is over. I have
my future to think of. I cannot support plotting and scheming behind
my back by those who have their own ends to serve!”
Catherine held her breath, appalled by the hurricane of tears and
recriminations. Through the outcries she caught a despairing whimper
which cut her to the heart.
“Jeanne, dear Jeanne, you must not say such things! Have I ever
doubted you? It is cruel to torture me like this!”
The feeble protest was drowned in a renewed burst of weeping.
“Cruel? It is madame who is cruel! She accuses me of neglect, me who
have given fifteen years of my life to her service! It is too much!
How could I know this one thing was true, when every day madame sees
and hears what is not there? Even now I cannot altogether believe. No,
I see it plainly. I am no longer wanted, and am to be cast aside like
an old shoe. Enough! I go to-morrow, to give place to some persons for
whom madame will be only a mental case. But if when I am no longer
here it is thought wise to shut madame up in an asylum----”
“Jeanne, you cannot, you must not leave me! Listen to me, I implore
you to listen!”
“I will not hear madame! I go to my brother in the Vosges to take the
long rest I have been needing this twelve-month. Then madame will
realize what I have done for her, how I have protected her. She will
know, she will know!”
Unable to bear more, Catherine burst into the room.
“Jeanne--what is the meaning of this?” she demanded in a stern
whisper.
Quick as lightning the woman turned upon her, one finger outstretched
in venomous accusation. She still wore her hat, while her face was
swollen and streaked with tears.
“There!” she cried hoarsely. “Behold one who calls herself your
friend! Why is she here if not to profit by madame’s weakness? Does
madame flatter herself for one moment that this young American has
come across the ocean for love of a bed-ridden woman? Ask her what she
hopes to get for her pains! Ask her if she is not waiting for madame
to die and leave her a fortune!”
The shameless attack deprived the girl of speech. She could only stare
while the stream of abuse flowed on.
“Madame’s friends!” went on the voice with bitter scorn. “Who are
they? I know of none but Mademoiselle Cushing and Mademoiselle
West--paupers both! Why do they come here, why does the fat singer
urge madame to make her will? Madame is indeed insane if she cannot
see into the hearts of these creatures. Always this talk of the will,
this fear that madame will die and leave these people penniless! Tell
me--have I ever hoped that madame would leave me a single sou? Am I
taking away with me more than I brought here? No, a thousand times no!
Madame is turning away the one being who has tried to stand between
her and these grasping----”
“Stop! Look, Jeanne, what you have done!”
The form on the bed had collapsed. Mme. Bender had fainted.
Instantly a miracle happened. Jeanne, her entire bearing transformed,
every sign of hysteria vanished, cast a single appraising glance at
the dead-white face of her mistress, then going to a little
medicine-cupboard took out a bottle and measured a few drops of liquid
into a glass.
Catherine watched the brisk, business-like movements with amazement,
saw her raise the limp body, murmuring, “_Buvez-ceci, madame!_” in a
tone of complete control.
Parenthetically she noticed that the bottle was labelled “Digitalis.”
In another second Mme. Bender’s eyelids fluttered open and a trembling
sigh escaped her lips. With a grunt of satisfaction Jeanne turned to
face the spell-bound girl.
“And now, mademoiselle,” she said in an even voice, “perhaps you had
better leave madame with me.”