“But now, what in the world are we to do with the idiot?”
“I am going to take him,” said M. Seneschal, “to the hospital. I will
go with him myself, and let Dr. Seignebos know, and the commonwealth
attorney.”
Dr. Seignebos was an eccentric man, beyond doubt; and the absurd stories
which his enemies attributed to him were not all unfounded. But he had,
at all events, the rare quality of professing for his art, as he called
it, a respect very nearly akin to enthusiasm. According to his views,
the faculty were infallible, as much so as the pope, whom he denied. He
would, to be sure, in confidence, admit that some of his colleagues were
amazing donkeys; but he would never have allowed any one else to say so
in his presence. From the moment that a man possessed the famous diploma
which gives him the right over life and death, that man became in his
eyes an august personage for the world at large. It was a crime, he
thought, not to submit blindly to the decision of a physician. Hence
his obstinacy in opposing M. Galpin, hence the bitterness of his
contradictions, and the rudeness with which he had requested the
“gentlemen of the law” to leave the room in which _his_ patient was
lying.
“For these devils,” he said, “would kill one man in order to get the
means of cutting off another man’s head.”
And thereupon, resuming his probes and his sponge, he had gone to work
once more, with the aid of the countess, digging out grain by grain the
lead which had honeycombed the flesh of the count. At nine o’clock the
work was done.
“Not that I fancy I have gotten them all out,” he said modestly, “but,
if there is any thing left, it is out of reach, and I shall have to wait
for certain symptoms which will tell me where they are.”
As he had foreseen, the count had grown rather worse. His first
excitement had given way to perfect prostration; and he seemed to be
insensible to what was going on around him. Fever began to show itself;
and, considering the count’s constitution, it was easily to be foreseen
that delirium would set in before the day was out.
“Nevertheless, I think there is hardly any danger,” said the doctor to
the countess, after having pointed out to her all the probable symptoms,
so as to keep her from being alarmed. Then he recommended to her to let
no one approach her husband’s bed, and M. Galpin least of all.
This recommendation was not useless; for almost at the same moment a
peasant came in to say that there was a man from Sauveterre at the door
who wished to see the count.
“Show him in,” said the doctor; “I’ll speak to him.”
It was a man called Tetard, a former constable, who had given up his
place, and become a dealer in stones. But besides being a former officer
of justice and a merchant, as his cards told the world, he was also
the agent of a fire insurance company. It was in this capacity that he
presumed, as he told the countess, to present himself in person. He had
been informed that the farm buildings at Valpinson, which were insured
in his company, had been destroyed by fire; that they had been purposely
set on fire by M. de Boiscoran; and that he wished to confer with
Count Claudieuse on the subject. Far from him, he added, to decline the
responsibility of his company: he only wished to establish the facts
which would enable him to fall back upon M. de Boiscoran, who was a man
of fortune, and would certainly be condemned to make compensation
for the injury done. For this purpose, certain formalities had to
be attended to; and he had come to arrange with Count Claudieuse the
necessary measures.
“And I,” said Dr. Seignebos,--“I request you to take to your heels.” He
added with a thundering voice,--
“I think you are very bold to dare to speak in that way of M. de
Boiscoran.”
M. Tetard disappeared without saying another word; and the doctor,
very much excited by this scene, turned to the youngest daughter of the
countess, the one with whom she was sitting up when the fire broke out,
and who was now decidedly better: after that nothing could keep him at
Valpinson. He carefully pocketed the pieces of lead which he had taken
from the count’s wounds, and then, drawing the countess out to the door,
he said,--
“Before I go away, madam, I should like to know what you think of these
events.”
The poor lady, who looked as pale as death itself, could hardly hold up
any longer. There seemed to be nothing alive in her but her eyes, which
were lighted up with unusual brilliancy.
“Ah! I do not know, sir,” she replied in a feeble voice. “How can I
collect my thoughts after such terrible shocks?”
“Still you questioned Cocoleu.”
“Who would not have done so, when the truth was at stake?”
“And you were not surprised at the name he mentioned?”
“You must have seen, sir.”
“I saw; and that is exactly why I ask you, and why I want to know what
you really think of the state of mind of the poor creature.”
“Don’t you know that he is idiotic?”
“I know; and that is why I was so surprised to see you insist upon
making him talk. Do you really think, that, in spite of his habitual
imbecility, he may have glimpses of sense?”
“He had, a few moments before, saved my children from death.”
“That proves his devotion for you.”
“He is very much attached to me indeed, just like a poor animal that I
might have picked up and cared for.”
“Perhaps so. And still he showed more than mere animal instinct.”
“That may well be so. I have more than once noticed flashes of
intelligence in Cocoleu.”
The doctor had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them furiously.
“It is a great pity that one of these flashes of intelligence did not
enlighten him when he saw M. de Boiscoran make a fire and get ready to
murder Count Claudieuse.”
The countess leaned against the door-posts, as if about to faint.
“But it is exactly to his excitement at the sight of the flames, and at
hearing the shots fired, that I ascribe Cocoleu’s return to reason.”
“May be,” said the doctor, “may be.”