Part 6 (1/2)

With a curiously impulsive gesture she clasped her hands together. 'But no, father!' she exclaimed. 'Remember that I am your nurse! Surely you will let me stay?' She looked beseechingly, not at her father, but at the silent man now standing by her side.

'Mademoiselle your daughter is an excellent nurse,' observed the Herr Doktor awkwardly.

The old man leant back on his pillow, wearily. He had hoped his English colleague would be more expansive, and '_sympathique_.' Also, he had thought to see an older man, one who would understand, without any need for explanation, his point of view about his daughter.

'I only wish you to leave the room for five minutes, my child. One word I _must_ say to Monsieur alone.'

She obeyed without further demur, and as the door closed behind her, the Frenchman put out his hot, sinewy, right hand and seized the younger man's.

'Not a word!' he exclaimed in a hurried whisper. 'Not a word, you understand, of the truth for her! Gangrene has set in. There is nothing to be done now--it's too late. Why I consented to see you was, first, to procure for myself the pleasure of meeting an English confrere (an honour as well as a very great pleasure, I a.s.sure you)--and then with the hope that you were likely to know some--what shall I say?--palliative--ay, that's the word!--to make things less painful for her, as well as for me too, when comes the end.'

The Herr Doktor nodded his head understandingly.

'I tell you this,' went on the other quickly, 'because my daughter, as a matter of fact, knows nothing of illness, nothing of wounds----' He waited a moment. 'Perhaps you have a daughter--a child of your own?'

The Herr Doktor shook his head.

'Ah well, at your age I too was not married! More, like you, perhaps, I intended not to marry. But, some day your heart will play you a trick--wait till then, it's worth it--and you will come to realise how carefully one tries to guard one's children, especially one's daughter, from what is painful and disagreeable. I could not prevent Jeanne from taking charge of this Red Cross barge. She belongs to the Secours aux Blesses Militaires, and she has been through the course they give their young girl members. But, naturally, I should not have allowed her to go to a military hospital. A Red Cross barge is different. There are only convalescents there--and old Jacob, whom you will have seen, gave me his word that she should be sheltered from anything unpleasant or--or unsuitable.' He waited a few moments, and then, in a very different voice, added: 'But now, my dear colleague, we will consider my case--otherwise she will be growing impatient.'

He drew down his bed-clothes, and an involuntary exclamation of concern, of surprise, of regret escaped from the Herr Doktor's lips.

'Yes, you see how it is with me? One of those new-fangled injections at the right moment might have stopped the mischief. On the other hand, it might not.' He shrugged his shoulders, and exclaimed, 'Yes, there's nothing to be done! But I want to know if your opinion coincides with mine as to how much time I have left. That is important, for I have arrangements to make. When I am gone, my daughter will have to find her way to Paris, to her aunt, Mademoiselle de Bligniere.'

'To Paris?' The Herr Doktor could not keep the amazement he felt out of his voice.

The old man looked up at him quickly. 'Yes, my dear colleague, to Paris--why not?'

'But--but----' The Herr Doktor reddened, then very quietly, even deprecatingly, he said, 'But, Monsieur le Docteur--the Germans? Will they not in Paris be?'

'No,' said Dr. Rouannes confidently. 'They will be kept out of Paris. I only wish she--aye, and I too--were in Paris now!'

There was a pause, a rather painful pause, between the two men.

'You do not believe what I say about Paris?' said Dr. Rouannes abruptly.

'No, I regret to say that I cannot your opinion share.' The Herr Doktor forced himself to say the words.

'You do not know Joffre.' The old doctor looked up at him reflectively.

'Very few people know Joffre--I do. We were at school together. I saw him not so very long ago. In fact just before I was wounded.' Then he called out, 'Jeanne! Ma pet.i.te Jeanne!'

The door opened, and Mademoiselle Rouannes walked in, pale, composed, but with lips quivering piteously.

'Do not look so anxious,' said her father quickly. 'As I have always told you, there is no mystery about my condition--none at all! My English colleague agrees with me that it's a very nasty wound. Well, you know that already! I'm not as young as I was--that is against me; on the other hand, I'm a very healthy man. You are not to trouble about me one way or the other. Certain things which we are lacking this gentleman will provide out of his stores. The English ambulance service is the best in the world.'

And then the Herr Doktor made his one mistake. 'Nein, nein!' he muttered. And then he felt his heart stand still.

But his new patient had not heard the protest. In a stronger, heartier voice he exclaimed, 'Ah yes, that's right! I wondered when it was coming----'

The door had opened, and Therese walked round the corner of the screen, carrying a tray on which were three small gla.s.ses, a bottle of Malaga, and some little dry cakes.

'Do you mind stopping a few minutes and having a talk with my father?'

Jeanne Rouannes spoke in English. 'It's very'--she hesitated for a word, then found it--'it's very dull for him when I am away all day.'