"Aimer sans Amour est amer."
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Therese was waiting for M. Deshoulieres the next morning when he went
to Rue St Servan. He could not tell how she looked; she was eager,
troubled, doubtful, all at once. He did not yet know what had happened,
but he guessed directly. "Ah, that poor madame!" she said shuddering.
"It is too terrible--" and then she stopped.
He saw that she had been overwrought. All that night Madame Roulleau
had lain on the floor by the child's bed, in a fierce agony of despair,
not weeping, but writhing. Once she had looked up with dry, burning
eyes, and said to Therese hoarsely, "Your lover is come. Do you
remember? _he_ told you so once, and I beat him for it. Do you hear
that, all of you? I told a lie, and I beat my little Adolphe." There
was something so terrible in her voice and in her face, that Therese and
Nannon shrank. And this was all that she knew of Fabien. The poor
child, in spite of her bravery, could hardly endure these different
emotions that were tearing at her heart. Nothing at the hospital had
been so dreadful to witness as the sight of that hard, insupportable
agony. And in the midst of it she had been told that Fabien was come.
"What is it all?" she said, putting out her hand to Max, with an
appealing glance that went to his heart. He answered it at once with a
kind smile.
"There is good news for you. M. Saint-Martin has come at last."
"So it is true!" Her face changed suddenly, her eyes danced. "I could
not believe it; but if you say so, I know it is true."
Yes, those grave blue eyes were true as truth itself. There was a
burden to be borne by one, perhaps by both of them, and his work should
be to lighten hers.
"You may believe it, indeed. I have seen him--"
"Seen him!" Such gladness in her face!--such gladness in her voice!
"And you shall meet him to-day at the Cygne."
Something made her put out her hand to him again. "What do I not owe
you!" she said, gratefully.
"For what?" he said with a smile. "I was neither the letter nor the
ship that brought him back. _Allons_, it appears to me it is monsieur
the cure of Ardron whom you will have to thank the most."
She shook her head without answering. She was not deceived. If ever
friend was faithful to his friendship, it was this friend. Neither of
them spoke for a moment, then Therese said slowly,--"I shall understand
every thing better by and by, I think. I fancy there are things which
neither of us understand as yet. That poor woman--!" she added,
sighing.
"So the poor little one is dead!"
"It is not that only--I mean that is not the worst," she said in answer
to his look. "Her sorrow is so dreadful to see. I have asked her to
hear Pere Gaspard, but she will not let him come into the room. I
wonder whether Sister Gabrielle could do any thing! I wonder what it
is! She says such terrible things."
M. Deshoulieres was too generous-hearted to suspect readily, but that
night he had been perplexed by thoughts of little Roulleau, suggested in
the interview at Maury.
"I must see her husband," he said. "Is he with her, or shall I find him
in the bureau?"
"Did you not know?" asked Therese in surprise. "He is not here. He
went away again at once when he heard of the fever. The little coward!"
"Went away!"
"But yes, indeed. To Tours, she supposes. I think that is one of the
things that has half killed her."
M. Deshoulieres' face became more grave. This flight of the little
notary added considerably to the difficulties of his position. He
remembered also that Ignace had heard his tidings of M. Saint-Martin's
arrival. Therese, who saw this cloud, asked at once, "What is it?"
"I do not like his absence at this time, and I want the papers connected
with M. Moreau's will. Will you wait here for a moment while I speak
to the clerk?"
He came back again presently, shaking his head. "We can go no further
than the outside of the chest; Madame Roulleau has the keys, and I am
afraid you must make an effort to get them. It is really a matter of
extreme importance, or I would not ask you to undertake such a task," he
added abruptly.