“Where is the idiot?”
The man put his spade into the ground; and, with that affected reverence
which characterizes all persons employed in a convent, he answered,--
“The idiot is down there in the middle avenue, mother, in his usual
place, you know, which nothing will induce him to leave.”
M. Galpin and the lady superior found him there. They had taken off
the rags which he wore when he was admitted, and put him into the
hospital-dress, which was a large gray coat and a cotton cap. He did not
look any more intelligent for that; but he was less repulsive. He was
seated on the ground, playing with the gravel.
“Well, my boy,” asked M. Galpin, “how do you like this?”
He raised his inane face, and fixed his dull eye on the lady superior;
but he made no reply.
“Would you like to go back to Valpinson?” asked the lawyer again. He
shuddered, but did not open his lips.
“Look here,” said M. Galpin, “answer me, and I’ll give you a ten-cent
piece.”
No: Cocoleu was at his play again.
“That is the way he is always,” declared the lady superior. “Since he
is here, no one has ever gotten a word out of him. Promises, threats,
nothing has any effect. One day I thought I would try an experiment;
and, instead of letting him have his breakfast, I said to him, ‘You
shall have nothing to eat till you say, “I am hungry.”’ At the end of
twenty-four hours I had to let him have his pittance; for he would have
starved himself sooner than utter a word.”
“What does Dr. Seignebos think of him?”
“The doctor does not want to hear his name mentioned,” replied the lady
superior.