SANIEL VISITS A BARBER
The following day at five o'clock when Phillis rang, he opened the door
for her. Hardly had she entered when she was about to throw herself into
his arms as usual, with a quickness that told how happy she was to see
him. But he checked her with his hand.
"What is the matter?" she asked paralyzed and full of fears.
"Nothing; or, at least nothing much."
"Against me?"
"Certainly not, dear one."
"You are ill?"
"No, not ill, but I must take precautions which prevent me from embracing
you. I will explain; do not be uneasy, it is not serious."
"Quick!" she cried, examining him, and trying to anticipate his thought.
"You have something to tell me?"
"Yes, good news. But I beg of you, speak first; do not leave me in
suspense."
"I assure you that you need not be uneasy; and when I speak thus, you
know that you should believe me. You see that I am not uneasy."
"It is for others that you are alarmed, never for yourself."
"Do you know what the pelagre is?"
"No."
"It is a special disease of the hair and beard, due to the presence in
the epidermis of a kind of mushroom. Well, it is probable that I have
this disease."
"Is it serious?"
"Troublesome for a man, but disastrous for a woman, because, before any
treatment, the hair must be cut. You understand, therefore, that if I
have the pelagre, as I believe I have, I am not going to expose you to
the risk of catching it in embracing you. It is very easily transmitted,
and in that case you would be obliged, probably, to do for yourself what
I must do for myself; that is, to cut my hair. With me it is of no
consequence; but with you it would be murder to sacrifice your beautiful
hair."
"You say 'probably.'"
"Because I am not yet quite certain that I have the pelagre. For about
two weeks I have felt a slight itching in my head and, naturally, I paid
no attention to it. I had other things to do; and besides, I was not
going to believe I was attacked with a parasitic malady merely on account
of an itching. But, after some time, my hair became dry and began to
fall out. I had no time to attend to it, and the days passed; besides,
the excitement of my examinations was enough to make my hair fall. To-
day, just before you came, I had a few minutes to spare, and I examined
one of my hairs through a microscope; if I had not been disturbed I
should have finished by this time."
"Continue your examination."
"It would take some time to do it thoroughly. If it is really the
pelagre, as I have reason to believe, tomorrow you will see me without
hair and beard. I would not hesitate, in spite of the astonishment that
my appearance would cause."
"What good will that do?"
"I cannot tell people that I had my hair and beard cut because I have a
parasitic disease. Every one knows it is contagious."
"When the hair is cut, what will be come of the disease?"
"With energetic treatment it will rapidly disappear. Before long you may
embrace me if--you do not find me too ugly."
"O dearest!"
"And now for you; you have come from Madame Dammauville?"
He did not need to persist; Phillis accepted his story so readily that he
felt reassured on her side; she would not alarm herself about it. As for
others, the embarrassment of confessing a contagious malady would be a
sufficient explanation, if he were ever obliged to furnish one.
"What did she say to you?" he asked.
"Good and kind words to begin with, which show what an excellent woman
she is. After having presented myself twice at her house yesterday, you
understand that I was not quite easy on asking her to receive me again
to-day. As I tried to excuse myself, she said she was glad to see my
devotion to my brother, that I need never excuse myself for asking her
assistance, and that she would help me all she could. With this
encouragement I explained what we want her to do, but she did not appear
disposed to do it. Without giving her Monsieur Nougarede's reasons, I
said we were obliged to conform to the counsels of those who directed the
affair, and I begged her to help us. Finally she was won over, but
reluctantly, and said she would do as we wished. But she could not
assure me that her servants had not talked about it, nor could she
promise to leave her bed to go to court, for she had not left her room
for a year."
"Does she expect to be able to rise soon?"
"I repeat her words, to which I paid great attention in order not to
forget them: 'I am promised that I shall be better next year, but who can
tell? I will urge my doctor to give me an answer, and when you come
again I will tell you what he says.' Profiting by the door that she
opened to me, I kept the conversation on this doctor. It seems to me,
but I am not certain, that she has but little confidence in him. He was
the classmate of her husband and of her brother-in-law the notary; he is
the friend of every one, curing those who can be cured, or letting them
die by accident. You see what kind of a doctor he is."
"I told you I knew him."
"See if I deceive myself, and to what I tell you, add what you already
know. Frightened to see in whose hands she is, I undertook to find out,
and finished by learning--without asking her directly--that she has seen
no other physician during the year. When she was taken with paralysis a
consultation was held, and she has had Doctor Balzajette ever since. She
says he is very kind, and takes care of her as well as another would."
Saniel improved the opportunity to refer to his stupidity in frankly
expressing his opinion on the solemn Balzajette.
"It is probable," he said.
"It is certain? Do you believe that during one year nothing has appeared
in Madame Dammauville's disease that should demand new treatment? Do you
think the solemn Balzajette is incapable of finding it all by himself?"
"He is not so dull as you suppose."
"It is you who speak of dulness."
"To diagnose a disease and to treat it are two things. It is the
consultation you speak of that settled the question of Madame
Dammauville's disease, and prescribed the treatment that Balzajette had
only to apply; and his capacity, I assure you, is sufficient for this
task."
As she appeared but little reassured, he persisted, for it would be an
imprudence to let Phillis become enamored of the idea that if he attended
Madame Dammauville, he would cure her, even if it required a miracle.
"We have some time before us, since the 'ordonnance de renvoi' before the
assizes is not yet given out. Madame Dammauville has promised to
question her doctor, to learn if he hopes to put her in condition to
leave her bed soon. Let us wait, therefore."
"Would it not be better to act than to wait?"
"At least let us wait for news from Balzajette. Either it will be
satisfactory, and then we shall have nothing to do, or it will not be,
and in that case I promise you to see Balzajette. I know him well enough
to speak to him of your patient, which, above all, enables me, in making
your brother intervene, to interest myself openly in his
reestablishment."
"O dearest, dearest!" she murmured, in a spirit of gratitude.
"You cannot doubt my devotion to you first, and to your brother
afterward. You asked me an impossible thing, that I was obliged to
refuse, to my regret, precisely because it was impossible; but you know
that I am yours, and will do all I can for your family."
"Forgive me."
"I have nothing to forgive; in your place I should think as you do, but I
believe that in mine you would act as I do."
"Be sure that I have never had an idea of blame in my heart for what is
with you an affair of dignity. It is because you are high and proud that
I love you so passionately."
She rose.
"Are you going?" he asked.
"I want to carry Madame Dammauville's words to mamma; you can imagine
with what anguish she awaits me."
"Let us, go. I will leave you at the boulevard to go to see Nougarede."
The interview with the advocate was short.
"You see, dear friend, that my plan is good; bring Madame Dammauville to
court, and we shall have some pleasant moments."
This time Saniel had not the hesitation of the previous evening, and he
entered the first barber-shop he saw. When he returned to his rooms he
lighted two candles, and placing them on the mantle, he looked at himself
in the glass.
Coquetry had never been his sin, and often weeks passed without his
looking in a mirror, so indifferent was he when making his toilet.
However, as a young boy he sometimes looked in his small glass, asking
himself what he would become, and he could now recall his looks--an
energetic face with clearly drawn features, a physiognomy open and frank,
without being pretty, but not disagreeable. His beard had concealed all
this; but now that it was gone, he said to himself without much
reflection that he would find again, without doubt, the boy he
remembered.
What he saw in the glass was a forehead lined transversely; oblique
eyebrows, raised at the inside extremity, and a mouth with tightened lips
turned down at the corners; furrows were hollowed in the cheeks; and the
whole physiognomy, harassed, ravaged, expressed hardness.
What had become of that of the young man of other days? He had before
him the man that life had made, and of whom the violent contractions of
the muscles of the face had modelled the expression.
"Truly, the mouth of an assassin!" he murmured.
Then, looking at his shaved head, he added with a smile:
"And perhaps that of one condemned to death, whose toilet has just been
made for the guillotine."