Part 24 (2/2)
CHAPTER VI
And so it was.
Fouchette had been thrown from the voiture in the conflict, and had been run over by the mob and trampled into the mud of the gutter. So covered with the filth of the street was she, so torn and bruised and bedraggled, that she would have been unrecognizable even to one who had seen her more often than had her present examiner.
There was something in the girl's face, however, that had left an impression on the mind of Jean Marot not easily effaced. It was too indistinct and unemotional, this impression, to inspire a.n.a.lysis, but it was there, so that, under the lamp, Jean had at once recognized the young woman of the carriage.
”It's murder, that's what it is,” he soliloquized,--”victim of 'Vive l'armee.'”
A most careful examination showed there were no bones broken, though the young body was literally black and blue.
The face was that of a prize-fighter's after a stubborn battle.
Inspection of the clothing developed no marks of recognition. Her pocket lining showed that she had been robbed of anything she may have possessed. The coa.r.s.e character and general appearance of the clothing indicated her lowly condition of charity scholar.
Although rigor mortis had not yet set in, the medical student, armed with a basin and sponge, proceeded to prepare the body for the scalpel.
”This ought to suit George Villeroy,” he mused. ”And George has always said I was no good except on a lark. He has always pined for a fresh subject----”
He was attracted by the quality and peculiar color of the hair, and was.h.i.+ng the stains from the head, examined the latter attentively.
”I never saw but one woman with hair like that, and she--wonder what the devil is in Lerouge, anyhow!--I suppose--hold on here! Let us see.”
He had found a terrible gash in the scalp. Hastily obtaining his instruments, he skilfully lifted a bit of crushed skull.
As he did so he fancied there was a slight tremor in the slender body.
He nervously tested the heart, the nostrils, the pulse, then breathed once more.
”Dame! It is imagination. That break would have killed an ox!”
Yet he took another careful look at the wound, cutting away some of the fair hair in order to get at the fracture. Then he made another experiment.
”Pardieu! she's alive,” he whispered, hoa.r.s.ely. ”What's to be done?
They're right. Jean! Jean! you'll never be a doctor! Never be anything but a d----d fool!”
But Jean Marot, if not a doctor, was a young man of action and resources. Even as he spoke he grabbed a sheet and a blanket from a cot in the corner, s.n.a.t.c.hed a hat belonging to Ma.s.sard's grisette from the wall, bundled the girl's clothes around the body the best he could, and ran to the window.
As he had antic.i.p.ated would be the case, the cabman had disappeared.
He was fully aware of the risk he now ran; but above his sense of personal danger rose his sympathy and anxiety for the young girl.
He realized that his first step must be to get her out of this place; next to get her under the care of a regular pract.i.tioner. French law is severe in such a contingency. Without hesitation he again shouldered his burden,--this time with infinite gentleness.
At first he had thought of depositing it in the court below until he had secured a cab in the Rue et Place de l'ecole de Medecine; but he saw an open voiture pa.s.sing along the elevated horizon of the Rue de Monsieur le Prince and gave a shrill whistle.
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