Part 22 (2/2)

Papa was startled by this unexpected news, and apparently never dreamed of what occurred to Marise at once, that this was just something they had made up to prevent anybody's talking to her. Marise thought it a good idea. She had hoped something like that could be arranged ... in case those horrible sergents de ville came back again. She was not alarmed by Soeur Ste. Lucie's worried face, because this was by no means the first time that she had observed how easy it was for people's faces to look anything they wished to have them.

Papa was asking rather sharply, ”What is the matter? What did the doctor say? Is it the effect of nervous shock?”

All the same, it was too bad, thought Marise to have Papa worried for nothing.

Soeur Ste. Lucie shook her head hurriedly, ”Oh, no, something much more acute than that, a terrible, terrible chill which has gone to her lungs.

The poor lady must have been in soaking wet clothes, for n.o.body knows how long. Monsieur has been told of the....” She hesitated and paused.

”Yes, yes, I know she was with some one who fell into a river somewhere and was drowned. But did she fall in, too? How did she get wet? Why _weren't_ her clothes changed?” His voice rose as he asked the questions.

Soeur Ste. Lucie explained in a low, hurried, agitated voice. ”n.o.body knows of course just what happened. Perhaps she tried to save the poor fellow. Perhaps she slipped as he did. In any case she was too distraught to think of herself or to realize the danger of going so long in wet clothes. And every one there was so absorbed in the tragedy...!

She was all alone among strangers, the poor lady. She must have sat in her dripping garments in the cold train all the way to Lourdes, and then half the night in the unheated station there, waiting for the train. It was terrible. The doctor said it was terrible to think of--weakened with the shock, as she was, and no food!”

Papa now said ungently and impatiently, yet as though he were restraining himself, ”Well, we must get her home at once, where we can take care of her!” Marise could see that he believed every word that Soeur Ste. Lucie said.

But of course Soeur Ste. Lucie hadn't the least intention of letting Papa take Maman away. ”I'm afraid that is impossible,” she said, ”the doctor came back this afternoon, is here now in fact, and says”--her voice broke--”he says she is much too ill to be moved.”

At this Papa burst out angrily, his face very red, ”Why under the heavens didn't you send word of this to her own home? Here I have been there, ever since the morning train, eating my lunch ... with no _idea_ that....”

The nun defended herself reasonably, sadly, showing no resentment at his anger, ”No one knew you were come back, Monsieur, and I was just starting to fetch our dear little Marie.”

Marise saw over the nun's shoulder a gentleman with a bald head, a great brown beard and very white hands coming down the corridor, ”Here is the doctor, now,” said Soeur Ste. Lucie, drawing in her breath quickly.

Taking Papa and motioning Marise to stay where she was, she stepped down the corridor. Marise watched them, her eyes on the doctor's serious, spectacled eyes. Something about the way he looked at Papa made Marise for the first time wonder if Maman really were a little sick after all.

They all came back to where Marise stood. Papa's face was no longer red.

He said to Marise in a queer voice, ”The doctor says that Maman must not be disturbed, but we may go in to see her for a moment if we will be quiet and not talk.”

They turned, all of them, and started down the long, gray stone corridor. Marise tip-toed along beside her father. She was a little frightened in spite of herself, at a loss to know what to think or feel or believe. The emptiness of the corridor echoed around them. Marise's ears rang with the emptiness of it! And how long it was. It took them forever to walk through it. Marise looked up at the small windows set high in the wall, and wondered when they would ever come to a door that opened out.

But the only door was at the very end, and that opened into the white-washed room where Maman lay in a narrow bed.

As soon as she saw her mother, Marise was sure again that she was not really sick because she looked even better than usual, with a deep sh.e.l.l-pink in her cheeks. She did seem a little tired and sleepy, however, for her eyelids looked heavy and kept dropping down over her eyes. They stood there for a moment, looking at her, till she should open them again.

When she did, and saw Papa there, she flung out her arms towards him. As he stooped over her she clung to him with all her might just as Marise had at the station.

She did not look at Marise at all, only at Papa. He patted her shoulder, and smiled at her, and Marise saw the tears run out of Maman's eyes in a gush.

Papa sat down on the little chair by the bed which creaked under his weight, and leaned forward, his arms around Maman, his cheek against hers. She said to him in a hurried, frightened whisper, ”Horace, I want to go home. I want to go home.”

He answered steadily, ”It's all right, Flora ... we'll have you home in a few days.”

She closed her eyes again, all the expression dropping out of her face.

The doctor stepped to the other side of the bed, and his fingers on her wrist, his eyes on his watch, motioned them silently to leave, with a sideways jerk of his head.

They tip-toed out and down the long, gray, empty corridor.

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