Part 33 (2/2)

We walked across the square without speaking. I went first; in a few minutes we ascended our stairs.

Sorle had placed a candle at the top of the stairs; I took it and led M. Steinbrenner to the baby's room.

All seemed quiet as we entered. Zeffen was sitting in an arm-chair behind the door, with her head on her knees, and her shoulders uncovered; she was no longer crying but weeping. The child was in bed.

Sorle, standing at its side, looked at us.

The doctor laid his cap on the bureau.

”It is too warm here,” said he, ”give us a little air.”

Then he went to the bed. Zeffen had risen from her chair, as pale as death. The doctor took the lamp, and looked at our poor little David; he raised the coverlet and lifted out the little round limbs; he listened to the breathing. Esdras having begun to cry, he turned round and said: ”Take the other child away from this room--we must be quiet!

and besides, the air of a sick-room is not good for such small children.”

He gave me a side look. I understood what he meant to say. It was the typhus! I looked at my wife; she understood it all.

I felt at that moment as if my heart were torn; I wanted to groan, but Zeffen was there leaning over, behind us, and I said nothing; nor did Sorle.

The doctor asked for paper to write a prescription, and we went out together. I led him to our room, and shut the door, and began to sob.

”Moses,” said he, ”you are a man, do not weep! Remember that you ought to set an example of courage to two poor women.”

”Is there no hope?” I asked him in a low voice, afraid of being heard.

”It is the typhus!” said he. ”We will do what we can. There, that is the prescription; go to Tribolin's; his boy is up at night now, and he will give you the medicine. Be quick! And then, in heaven's name, take the other child out of that room, and your daughter too, if possible. Try to find some one out of the family, accustomed to sickness; the typhus is contagious.”

I said nothing.

He took his cap and went.

Now what can I say more? The typhus is a disease engendered by death itself; the prophet speaks of it, when he says:

”h.e.l.l from beneath is moved for thee, to meet thee at thy coming!”

How many have I seen die of the typhus in our hospitals, on the Saverne hill, and elsewhere!

When men tear each other to pieces, without mercy, why should not death come to help them? But what had this poor babe done that it must die so soon? This, Fritz, is the most dreadful thing, that all must suffer for the crimes of a few. Yes, when I think that my child died of this pestilence, which war had brought from the heart of Russia to our homes, and which ravaged all Alsace and Lorraine for six months, instead of accusing G.o.d, as the impious do, I accuse men. Has not G.o.d given them reason? And when they do not use it--when they let themselves rage against each other like brutes--is He to blame for it?

But of what use are right ideas, when we are suffering!

I remember that the sickness lasted for six days, and those were the cruelest days of my life. I feared for my wife, for my daughter, for Safel, for Esdras. I sat in a corner, listening to the babe's breathing. Sometimes he seemed to breathe no longer. Then a chill pa.s.sed over me; I went to him and listened. And when, by chance, Zeffen came, in spite of the doctor's prohibition, I went into a sort of fury; I pushed her out by the shoulders, trembling.

”But he is my child! He is my child!” she said.

”And art thou not my child too?” said I. ”I do not want you all to die!”

Then I burst into tears, and fell into my chair, looking straight before me, my strength all gone; I was exhausted with grief.

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