After seeing Tony safely put in the cage, with a saucer of rice for his supper, and a cup of water to wash it down, Lady Jane climbed up on the high bed, and not daring to kiss her mother good-night lest she might disturb her, she nestled close to her. Worn out with fatigue, she was soon sleeping soundly and peacefully.
For some time Madame Jozain sat by the bed, watching the sick stranger, and wondering who she was, and whether her sudden illness was likely to be long and serious. “If I could keep her here, and nurse her,” she thought, “no doubt she would pay me well. I’d rather nurse than do lace; and if she’s very bad she’d better not be moved. I’d take good care of her, and make her comfortable; and if she’s no friends about here to look after her, she’d be better off with me than in the hospital. Yes, it would be cruel to send her to the hospital. Ladies don’t like to go there. It looks to me as if she’s going to have a fever,” and madame laid her fingers on the burning hand and fluttering pulse of the sleeper. “This isn’t healthy, natural sleep. I’ve nursed too many with fever, not to know. I doubt if she’ll come to her senses again. If she doesn’t no one will ever know who she is, and I may as well have the benefit of nursing her as any one else; but I must be careful, I mustn’t let her lie here and die without a doctor. That would never do. If she’s not better in the morning I’ll send for Doctor Debrot; I know he’ll be glad to come, for he never has any practice to speak of now, he’s so old and stupid; he’s a good doctor, and I’d feel safe to have him.”
After a while she got up and went out on the doorstep to wait for Raste. The night was very quiet, a fresh breeze cooled the burning heat, the stars shone brightly and softly, and as she sat there alone and lifted her mild eyes toward the sky no one would have dreamed of the strange thoughts that were passing through her mind. Now she was neither hungry nor lonesome; a sudden excitement thrilled her through and through. She was about to engage in a project that might compensate her for all her misfortunes. The glimpse she had of money, of valuables, of possible gain, awakened all her cupidity. The only thing she cared for now was money. She hated work, she hated to be at the beck and call of those she considered beneath her. What a gratification it would be to her to refuse to do Madame Joubert’s lace, to fling it at her, and tell her to take it elsewhere! With a little ready money, she could be so independent and so comfortable. Raste had a knack of getting together a great deal in one way and another. He was lucky; if he had a little to begin with he could, perhaps, make a fortune. Then she started, and looked around as one might who suddenly found himself on the brink of an awful chasm. From within she heard the sick stranger moan and toss restlessly; then, in a moment, all was quiet again. Presently, she began to debate in her mind how far she should admit Raste to her confidence. Should she let him know about the money and valuables she had hidden? The key in her bosom seemed to burn like a coal of fire. No, she would not tell him about the money. While taking the child’s nightgown from the bag, she had discovered the railroad tickets, two baggage checks, and a roll of notes and loose change in a little compartment of the bag. He would think that was all; and she would never tell him of the other.
At that moment, she heard him coming down the street, singing a rollicking song. So she got up, and hobbled toward him, for she feared he might waken the sleepers. He was a great overgrown, red-faced, black-eyed fellow, coarse and strong, with a loud, dashing kind of beauty, and he was very observing, and very shrewd. She often said he had all his father’s cunning and penetration, therefore she must disguise her plans carefully.
“Hallo, mum,” he said, as he saw her limping toward him, her manner eager, her face rather pale and excited; “what’s up now?” It was unusual for her to meet him in that way.
“Hush, hush, Raste. Don’t make a noise. Such a strange thing has happened since you went out!” said madame, in a low voice. “Sit down here on the steps, and I’ll tell you.”
Then briefly, and without much show of interest, she told him of the arrival of the strangers, and of the young woman’s sudden illness.
“And they’re in there asleep,” he said, pointing with his thumb in the direction of the room.
“That’s a fine thing for you to do—to saddle yourself with a sick woman and a child.”
“What could I do?” asked madame indignantly. “You wouldn’t have me turn a fainting woman into the street? It won’t cost anything for her to sleep in my bed to-night.”