“That is what the mayor told me, and it is very provoking, I must say:
however, they have allowed me to turn him out of the room which they had
given him at first. I have sent him to the Insane Ward. That is the name
we give to a few little rooms, enclosed by a wall, where we keep the
poor insane, who are sent to us provisionally.”
Here she was interrupted by the janitor of the hospital, who came up,
bowing.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Vaudevin, the janitor, handed her a note.
“A man brought by a gendarme,” he replied. “Immediately to be admitted.”
The lady superior read the note, signed by Dr. Seignebos.
“Epileptic,” she said, “and somewhat idiotic: as if we wanted any more!
And a stranger into the bargain! Really Dr. Seignebos is too yielding.
Why does he not send all these people to their own parish to be taken
care of?”
And, with a very elastic step for her age, she went to the parlor,
followed by M. Galpin and the janitor. They had put the new patient in
there, and, sunk upon a bench, he looked the picture of utter idiocy.
After having looked at him for a minute, she said,--
“Put him in the Insane Ward: he can keep Cocoleu company. And let the
sister know at the drug-room. But no, I will go myself. You will excuse
me, sir.”
And then she left the room. M. Galpin was much comforted.
“There is no danger here,” he said to himself. “And if M. Folgat counts
upon any incident during the trial, Cocoleu, at all events, will not
furnish it to him.”