“Drink, I beg you, my old Barbet. Listen to your Elise. Drink a
little--very slowly--but at least drink. You are all cold. It will warm
you, old Barbet.”
She offered him some drops of brandy in the palm of her hand. He paid
no attention to it. His lips were closed and shrivelled, a very bad
sign. On her return from the watch Elise had found him lying stiff and
without breath, as if his soul had passed in his last cry of distress.
“You are just as you were at first, but you will get better now, as you
did then. If you will drink you will get well, my old Barbet.”
He lay motionless, and Elise watched him and wept.
Poidevin was snoring: all the men were asleep again. Florimond was
seated on a box in the darkest corner of the room, half asleep, but the
furrows in his forehead, his compressed lips, and the twitchings of his
arms betrayed the feverish desire for vengeance which filled his whole
being. Silvere alone watched by Elise’s side.
He seized Barbet’s jaws with his two hands and tried with all his
might to unlock them. The lips opened a little and through them Elise
succeeded in slipping some drops of cordial, but they did not produce
a single tremor.
“It is not true. It is not true,” she cried, and from that moment she
did not leave Barbet until they were in port.
* * * * *
It was to Dieppe that the _Jeune-Adolphine_ had come to leave her fish.
While the men hurried to the nearest tavern, Elise made her way to the
town with Barbet in her arms.
She had sent Silvere to the sanitary bureau to get the addresses of
doctors, and the agent, thinking that it was some man who was ill, had
given him those of the principal physicians.
On seeing the curious patient they brought, one laughed, another
was angry, and all sent Elise mournfully away without advice. From
street to street she carried the dog, mounting the steps in vain, for
everywhere she received the same refusal.
Finally, the servant of one of these doctors, an old woman who had more
feeling than the younger ones, told Elise of a man thoroughly skilled
in the care of beasts, who lived between the town and the open fields,
in a place sheltered from the sea winds, where there was fresh air and
grass.
“It will be fine for you here, my Barbet,” said Elise as she reached
the door, “but can I have the heart to leave you?”
Barbet did not answer. His head swung helplessly over Elise’s arm,
his glassy eyes could not speak. The opinion was not favorable. The
veterinary made his diagnosis, screwing up his mouth and nodding his
head.
“He is dead. Leave him. I will bury him to-morrow.”
“Are you crazy, sir? Bury Barbet! As if one could find another friend
like him! I would give my life for him, just as he would give his for
me.”
“It would be of no use. If he is not dead he is the same as dead. He
will be underground before two days.”
“Oh, no, sir! You will find out how to make him well, for you are a
doctor. I will pay all expenses. The herring has furnished----”
She put Barbet quickly into Silvere’s arms, and, drawing from under her
skirt a canvas bag, held it up for the veterinary to see.
“The sale of the fish will fill it. There will be enough to pay you for
curing Barbet.”
Silvere interrupted, to promise still more.
“You are a couple of innocents,” said the veterinary rudely. “Leave the
dog with me.”
“You will take me to board, too, sir. I am easy to please.”
It was hard work to convince Elise that a hospital for animals was not
a tavern; the dog only was taken. Fortunately there was an inn not far
away, and Elise engaged a bed. She was going to live there during the
time it took to sell and deliver the herrings.
She came hourly to the hospital door, rang the bell boldly, troubling
the concierge and the servants, and even the master, to get news of
Barbet. They refused her entrance under the plea of interfering with
his recovery, but she was so importunate that the surgeon ended by
being interested in a dog which was the object of so firm a friendship.
And so Barbet was saved. He was on the high way to recovery when the
_Jeune-Adolphine_ sailed. After a more careful and patient examination
than he usually gave his patients, the veterinary had discovered the
state of the injury, applied the right remedy and a solid dressing;
then he had turned the animal over to Elise, dismissing her with a
crabbed good nature when she was persistent in trying to pay for his
care. She was carried away with delight.
“I was sure I should rescue you from death, my old Barbet. When we
fight for our friends, we are strong against evil.”
* * * * *
The _Jeune-Adolphine_ was sailing briskly toward her port. Barbet
preferred the deck. He was in the bow, stretched on a pile of nets and
mops, and it was thence that, six hours after leaving Dieppe, he saw
again the well-known bay, with its gray outlines softened away into
fog. Elise was near him. She lifted his head gently, and from afar
he made out the white houses of the town behind the red sands of the
dunes. As he saw these dear sights, his eye, so long bright with fever,
recovered its limpid serenity.
The sun was just setting when the _Jeune-Adolphine_ appeared in the
harbor. She had been signalled a half hour before, on entering the
channel, and all those whose happiness was at risk with her, were
waiting on the pier, impatient for her landing. Elise and Silvere saw
Mother Pilote and good Mother Loirat. They threw toward them a long,
joyful cry--a cry of home-coming, the lightest and most joyous of those
which escape the human breast.
* * * * *
They were to have a week on shore, and Elise passed it in her cabin,
caring for Barbet. She had signed for the whole campaign, and could not
think of breaking her engagement. Barbet was too weak yet to take up
life on shipboard again, and their separation was close at hand, for
the _Jeune-Adolphine_ was to sail in two days.
Elise was all the while in tears. She did not dare to leave the dog to
Mother Pilote, who could not be depended on to watch a sick person. She
wished to leave him with Chrétien.
Chrétien had not gone to sea again. He had yielded to the wishes of
Mother Loirat, who had been so greatly aged by her recent shock that
she preferred poverty to being left alone. He fished from the beach,
according to the season. It was a wretched occupation, but a safe one
at least.
Since Elise had returned home he often made his way to her cabin. He
would reach the house and watch her through the windows a long time
before he knocked. As soon as he was within he would seat himself and
remain an hour or two without saying anything, simply following her
with his childlike look.
He had been there since noon, sitting in a corner of the cabin, and
more restless and more silent than ever before. His eyes, naturally
so quiet, were lighted at intervals by strange gleams. He fixed them
longingly on the bridal bouquet, which, on the sideboard under a glass
globe, shone brilliantly with its leaves of gold paper. Then he turned
them to Elise as if in some secret trouble.
“What is it, Chrétien? tell me. Perhaps I may be able to comfort you.”
She had no reply. She saw him look more earnestly than before at the
bouquet, and then glance at her with a sort of sweet supplication.
He seemed so sad, and to desire it so much, that she was not able to
resist the pleasure of granting his silent prayer.
She ran to the sideboard, lifted the globe, took the bouquet, and,
blowing the dust off the leaves, broke off the brightest and gave it to
the young man.
“They say that it brings luck to lovers. Have you then a promise,
Chrétien?”
“I shall never marry.”
“What are you saying? You are especially made for home life.”
“No. I cannot hope to be happy, for you are to marry another. I shall
at least have the pleasure of dying for you.”
Elise was sitting by Barbet, and as she talked she was running her
fingers through his long hair, all tangled like that of a sick person.
At Chrétien’s word, she rose in surprise, and withdrew her hand so
suddenly that she pulled out a tuft. Barbet did not cry out, but he
was not able to repress a little whimper of pain.
“Is it possible that I hurt you, my old Barbet? You made me do it,
Chrétien, with your gloomy talk.”
And leaning toward the dog, she petted him consolingly.
Their confidential talk once broken, Chrétien had not another word to
say. He stayed a long time, abstracted and quiet, then, toward night,
he went out, throwing at Elise a long look of farewell.
“Chrétien, where are you going? Tell me.”
He was already some distance away. She followed him with her eyes for
some seconds. He went toward the dunes by the road that led to the
graveyard. Elise returned to Barbet and kissed his forehead.
“Do not be restless, Barbet. Chrétien had a strange look about him. I
want to find out what he is going over there for.”
She went out hastily and ran, for he was out of sight. She did not
catch sight of him again until after she had climbed the top of the
dune. He was not alone. As nearly as she could distinguish in the
twilight, Florimond and big Poidevin were with him.
Nothing is so depressing as the coming of night. Oppressed with
forebodings, Elise quickened her pace. What could bring them there,
those three, so late, on this gloomy road? Could what she feared be
true?
It was altogether improbable, she said; but the further she went the
stronger grew her fears.
She recalled the strange actions of Cousin Florimond during the last
few days. He was not a man to acknowledge defeat, and since his return
he had renewed his attentions to her and his threats. He took advantage
of the absence of Silvere, who had gone some distance into the country
to announce his approaching wedding to some old relatives, and was
delayed by business. But contrary to Florimond’s expectations he had
met a new champion of Elise’s rights, for Chrétien had been only too
happy to take up the duty of protecting her, if only for a week.
Had the two men quarrelled? At the very thought Elise trembled with
fear. She knew how all these sailors’ duels ended--duels with knives
and without mercy.
She thought she should faint when she saw the three figures disappear
suddenly in the Crow’s Hole. They usually fought there in the ditch,
the better to keep them face to face and prevent either from escaping.
Elise tried to run, but her legs tottered under her. She tried to cry
out, to frighten them by this approach of a stranger, but her voice
died away in her throat.
She heard the voice of Poidevin directing the fight.
“To your work, lads. You know the custom. In a case of gallantry you
strike to kill.”
There were some frightful instants of silence; overhead the sea-gulls
wheeled--sea-gulls drawn by the hope of blood; then came Poidevin’s
voice judging the blows. Then there was a hoarse clamor and two voices
cried together:
“His account is settled. Yes. You have ripped him up like a sack.”
“Who! Chrétien surely! Poor Mother Loirat!” And seized by a tremor of
unconquerable anguish Elise fell prostrate on the sand. She had fainted.
* * * * *
“Mam’selle Elise. It is I. Do you not know me! The bouquet has brought
me luck.”
Elise came to herself in the arms of Chrétien, who carried her to her
cabin.
“Fear no longer, Mam’selle Elise. Florimond will never trouble you
again. He had sworn to kill Silvere.”