“You should understand,” she said with a little more calmness—for, since he permitted her to speak, she hoped to convince him—“that I have done all I could to bring Madame Dammauville to the idea of calling, in consultation with Monsieur Balzajette, a doctor—”
“Which would be myself.”
“You or another; I have not mentioned any name. You should not think me awkward enough to put you forward clumsily; it would not be a good way to make you acceptable to an intelligent woman, and I value your dignity too much to lower it. I believed that another doctor than Monsieur Balzajette would find a remedy, some way, a miracle if you will, to enable Madame Dammauville to go to the Palais de justice, and I said it. I said it in every tone, in every way, with as much persuasion as I could put in my words. Was it not the life of my brother that I defended, our honor? At first, I found Madame Dammauville much opposed to this idea. She would be better soon, she felt it. Otherwise, if it were her duty to be carried to the Palais de justice, she would not hesitate.”
“She would do that?”
“Assuredly. No one has a stronger sense of justice. She would feel guilty did she not give her testimony to save an innocent person; not to save him when she could would be to take the responsibility of his loss. It is therefore certain that if she cannot go to court alone, she will do all she can to go, no matter how—on M. Balzajette’s arm, or on a stretcher. I was, then, easy enough on this side, but I was not for the stretcher. What would people think to see her in this condition? What impression would she make on the jury? Would not her appearance weaken the value of her testimony? As Madame Dammauville is fond of me, and very kind to me, I determined to profit by this kindness to urge a consultation, but without mentioning any name. I represented to her that, since M. Balzajette might say with every appearance of truth he had cured her, he should not be angry if she desired to ratify this cure. That besides, there was an imperative motive that would not permit her to wait, for it would be very disagreeable to her to present herself at the court of assizes in a theatrical way, which was not at all according to her character or habits. I easily discovered that the fear of giving pain to this old friend of her husband was the chief reason why she was opposed to this consultation. It was then that your name was pronounced.”
“You acknowledge it, then?”
“You will see how, and you will not be angry about it. I have often spoken to Madame Dammauville of mamma, and, consequently, of how you cured her paralysis, that resembled hers. It was not wrong, was it, to say what you have done for us? And without letting any one suspect my love, I could praise you, which my gratitude prompted. She asked me many questions, and naturally, as usual when I speak of you, when I have the joy of pronouncing your name, I answered in detail. That is not a crime?”
She waited a moment, looking at him. Without softening the hardness of his glance, he made a sign to her to continue.
“When I persisted on the consultation, Madame Dammauville recalled what I had said, and she was the first—you hear?—the first to pronounce your name. As you had cured my mother, I had the right to praise you. With a nature like hers, she would not have understood if I had not done it; she would have believed me ungrateful. I spoke of your book on the diseases of the spinal cord, which was quite natural; and as she manifested a desire to read it, I offered to lend it to her.”
“Was that natural?”
“With any but Madame Dammauville, no; but she is not frivolous. I took the book to her two days ago, and she has just told me that, after reading it, she has decided to send for you.”
“I shall certainly not go; she has her own physician.”
“Do not imagine that I have come to ask you to pay her a visit; all is arranged with Monsieur Balzajette, who will write to you or see you, I do not know which.”
“That will be very extraordinary on the part of Balzajette!”
“Perhaps you judge him harshly. When Madame Dammauville spoke to him of you he did not raise the smallest objection; on the contrary, he praised you. He says that you are one of the rare young men in whom one may have confidence. These are his own words that Madame Dammauville told me.”
“What do I care for the opinion of this old beast!”
“I am explaining how it happens that you are called into consultation; it is not because I spoke of you, but because you have inspired Monsieur Balzajette with confidence. However stupid he may be, he is just to you, and knows your value.”
It was come then, the time for the meeting that he did not wish to believe possible; and it was brought about in such a way that he did not see how he could escape it. He might refuse Phillis; but Balzajette? A colleague called him in consultation, and why should he not go? Had he foreseen this blow he would have left Paris until the trial was over, but he was taken unawares. What could he say to justify a sudden absence? He had no mother or brothers who might send for him, and with whom he would be obliged to remain. Besides, he wished to go to court; and since his testimony would carry considerable weight with the jury, it was his duty to be present on account of Florentin. It would be a contemptible cowardice to fail in this duty, and more, it would be an imprudence. In the eyes of the world he must appear to have nothing to fear, and this assurance, this confidence in himself, was one of the conditions of his safety. Now, if he went to court, and from every point of view it was impossible that he should not go, he would meet Madame Dammauville, as she intended to be carried there if she were unable to go in any other way. Whether it was at her house, or at the Palais de justice, the meeting was then certain, and in spite of what he had done, circumstances stronger than his will had prepared it and brought it about; nothing that he could do would prevent it.
The only question that deserved serious consideration just now was to know where this meeting would be the least dangerous for him—at Madame Dammauville’s or at the Palais?
He reflected silently, paying no more attention to Phillis than if she were not present, his eyes fixed, his brow contracted, his lips tightly closed, when the doorbell rang. As Joseph was at his post, Saniel did not move.
“If it is a patient,” Phillis said, who did not wish to go yet, “I will wait in the dining-room.”
And she rose.
Before she could leave the room, Joseph entered.
“Doctor Balzajette,” he said.
“You see!” Phillis cried.
Without replying, Saniel made a sign to Joseph to admit Doctor Balzajette, and while Phillis silently disappeared, he went toward the parlor.
Balzajette came forward with both hands extended.
“Good-day, my young ‘confrere’. I am enchanted to meet you.”
The reception was benevolent, amicable, and protecting, and Saniel replied at his best.
“Since we met the other day,” Balzajette continued, “I have thought of you. And nothing more natural than that, for you inspired me with a quick sympathy. The first time you came to see me you pleased me immediately, and I told you you would make your way. Do you remember?”
Assuredly he remembered; and of all the visits that he made to the doctors and druggists of his quarter, that to Balzajette was the hardest. It was impossible to show more pride, haughtiness, and disdain than Balzajette had put into his reception of the then unknown young man.
“I told you what I thought of you,” continued Balzajette. “It is with regard to this patient of whom you spoke to me; you remember?”
“Madame Dammauville?”
“Exactly. I put her on her feet, as I told you, but since then this bad weather has compelled her to take to her bed again. Without doubt, it is only an affair of a few days; but in the mean time, the poor woman is irritable and impatient. You know women, young ‘confrere’. To calm this impatience, I spontaneously proposed a consultation, and naturally pronounced your name, which is well known by your fine work on the medullary lesions. I supported it, as was proper, with the esteem that it has acquired, and I have the satisfaction to see it accepted.”
Saniel thanked him as if he believed in the perfect sincerity of this spontaneous proposition.
“I like the young, and whenever an occasion presents itself, I shall be happy to introduce you to my clientage. For Madame Dammauville, when can you go with me to see her?”
As Saniel appeared to hesitate, Balzajette, mistaking the cause of his silence, persisted.
“She is impatient,” he said. “Let us go the first day that is possible.”
He must reply, and in these conditions a refusal would be inexplicable.
“Will to-morrow suit you?” he asked.
“To-morrow, by all means. At what hour?”
Before replying, Saniel went to his desk and consulted an almanac, which appeared perfectly ridiculous to Balzajette.
“Does he imagine, the young ‘confrere’, that I am going to believe his time so fully occupied that he must make a special arrangement to give me an hour?”
But it was not an arrangement of this kind that Saniel sought. His almanac gave the rising and the setting of the sun, and it was the exact hour of sunset that he wished: “26 March, 6h. 20m.” At this moment it would not be dark enough at Madame Dammauville’s for lamps to be lighted, and yet it would be dark enough to prevent her from seeing him clearly in the uncertain light of evening.
“Will a quarter past six suit you? I will call for you at six o’clock.”
“Very well. Only I shall ask you to be very exact; I have a dinner at seven o’clock in the Rue Royale.”
Saniel promised promptness. The dinner was a favorable circumstance, enabling him to escape from Madame Dammauville’s before the lamps would be lighted.
When Balzajette was gone, he rejoined Phillis in the dining-room.
“A consultation is arranged for to-morrow at six o’clock, at Madame Dammauville’s.”
She threw herself on his breast.
“I knew that you would forgive me.”
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg