双语·邦斯舅舅 六十四、梭伐女人再度出现

LXIV

The Abbe Duplanty, coming downstairs, found the gateway blocked by the Cibots' friends, all of them bent upon showing their interest in one of the oldest and most respectable porters in the Marais.

Dr. Poulain raised his hat, and took the Abbe aside.

I am just about to go to poor M. Pons, he said. "There is still a chance of recovery; but it is a question of inducing him to undergo an operation. The calculi are perceptible to the touch, they are setting up an inflammatory condition which will end fatally, but perhaps it is not too late to remove them. You should really use your influence to persuade the patient to submit to surgical treatment; I will answer for his life, provided that no untoward circumstance occurs during the operation."

I will return as soon as I have taken the sacred ciborium back to the church, said the Abbe Duplanty, "for M. Schmucke's condition claims the support of religion."

I have just heard that he is alone, said Dr. Poulain. "The German, good soul, had a little altercation this morning with Mme. Cibot, who has acted as housekeeper to them both for the past ten years. They have quarreled (for the moment only, no doubt), but under the circumstances they must have some one in to help upstairs. It would be a charity to look after him.—I say, Cantinet," continued the doctor, beckoning to the beadle, "just go and ask your wife if she will nurse M. Pons, and look after M. Schmucke, and take Mme. Cibot's place for a day or two.... Even without the quarrel, Mme. Cibot would still require a substitute. Mme. Cantinet is honest," added the doctor, turning to M. Duplanty.

You could not make a better choice, said the good priest; "she is intrusted with the letting of chairs in the church."

A few minutes later, Dr. Poulain stood by Pons' pillow watching the progress made by death, and Schmucke's vain efforts to persuade his friend to consent to the operation. To all the poor German's despairing entreaties Pons only replied by a shake of the head and occasional impatient movements; till, after awhile, he summoned up all his fast-failing strength to say, with a heartrending look:

Do let me die in peace!

Schmucke almost died of sorrow, but he took Pons' hand and softly kissed it, and held it between his own, as if trying a second time to give his own vitality to his friend. Just at this moment the bell rang, and Dr. Poulain, going to the door, admitted the Abbe Duplanty.

Our poor patient is struggling in the grasp of death, he said. "All will be over in a few hours. You will send a priest, no doubt, to watch to-night. But it is time that Mme. Cantinet came, as well as a woman to do the work, for M. Schmucke is quite unfit to think of anything: I am afraid for his reason; and there are valuables here which ought to be in the custody of honest persons."

The Abbe Duplanty, a kindly, upright priest, guileless and unsuspicious, was struck with the truth of Dr. Poulain's remarks. He had, moreover, a certain belief in the doctor of the quarter. So on the threshold of the death-chamber he stopped and beckoned to Schmucke, but Schmucke could not bring himself to loosen the grasp of the hand that grew tighter and tighter. Pons seemed to think that he was slipping over the edge of a precipice and must catch at something to save himself. But, as many know, the dying are haunted by an hallucination that leads them to snatch at things about them, like men eager to save their most precious possessions from a fire. Presently Pons released Schmucke to clutch at the bed-clothes, dragging them and huddling them about himself with a hasty, covetous movement significant and painful to see.

What will you do, left alone with your dead friend? asked M. l'Abbe Duplanty when Schmucke came to the door. "You have not Mme. Cibot now—"

Ein monster dat haf killed Bons!

But you must have somebody with you, began Dr. Poulain. "Some one must sit up with the body to-night."

I shall sit up; I shall say die prayers to Gott, the innocent German answered.

But you must eat—and who is to cook for you now? asked the doctor.

Grief haf taken afay mein abbetite, Schmucke said, simply.

And some one must give notice to the registrar, said Poulain, "and lay out the body, and order the funeral; and the person who sits up with the body and the priest will want meals. Can you do all this by yourself? A man cannot die like a dog in the capital of the civilized world."

Schmucke opened wide eyes of dismay. A brief fit of madness seized him.

But Bons shall not tie!... he cried aloud. "I shall safe him!"

You cannot go without sleep much longer, and who will take your place? Some one must look after M. Pons, and give him drink, and nurse him—

Ah! dat is drue.

Very well, said the Abbe, "I am thinking of sending your Mme. Cantinet, a good and honest creature—"

The practical details of the care of the dead bewildered Schmucke, till he was fain to die with his friend.

He is a child, said the doctor, turning to the Abbe Duplanty.

Ein child, Schmucke repeated mechanically.

There, then, said the curate; "I will speak to Mme. Cantinet, and send her to you."

Do not trouble yourself, said the doctor; "I am going home, and she lives in the next house."

The dying seem to struggle with Death as with an invisible assassin; in the agony at the last, as the final thrust is made, the act of dying seems to be a conflict, a hand-to-hand fight for life. Pons had reached the supreme moment. At the sound of his groans and cries, the three standing in the doorway hurried to the bedside. Then came the last blow, smiting asunder the bonds between soul and body, striking down to life's sources; and suddenly Pons regained for a few brief moments the perfect calm that follows the struggle. He came to himself, and with the serenity of death in his face he looked round almost smilingly at them.

Ah, doctor, I have had a hard time of it; but you were right, I am doing better. Thank you, my good Abbe; I was wondering what had become of Schmucke—

Schmucke has had nothing to eat since yesterday evening, and now it is four o'clock! You have no one with you now and it would be wise to send for Mme. Cibot.

She is capable of anything! said Pons, without attempting to conceal all his abhorrence at the sound of her name. "It is true, Schmucke ought to have some trustworthy person."

M. Duplanty and I have been thinking about you both—

Ah! thank you, I had not thought of that.

—And M. Duplanty suggests that you should have Mme. Cantinet—

Oh! Mme. Cantinet who lets the chairs! exclaimed Pons. "Yes, she is an excellent creature."

She has no liking for Mme. Cibot, continued the doctor, "and she would take good care of M. Schmucke—"

Send her to me, M. Duplanty... send her and her husband too. I shall be easy. Nothing will be stolen here.

Schmucke had taken Pons' hand again, and held it joyously in his own. Pons was almost well again, he thought.

Let us go, Monsieur l'Abbe, said the doctor. "I will send Mme. Cantinet round at once. I see how it is. She perhaps may not find M. Pons alive."