“Oh, sir, it now feels like lead in my side—yes, just like lead! It’s as heavy as a hundred-pound weight, and prevents me from turning round.”
Then, having caught sight of Hélène, she went on without a pause: “Ah! here’s the good lady! I told the kind doctor you would come. Though the heavens might fall, said I, you would come all the same. You’re a very saint, an angel from paradise, and, oh! so beautiful that people might fall on their knees in the streets to gaze on you as you pass! Dear lady, I am no better; just now I have a heavy feeling here. Oh, I have told the doctor what you did for me! The emperor could have done no more. Yes, indeed, it would be a sin not to love you—a great sin.”
These broken sentences fell from her lips as, with eyes half closed, she rolled her head on the bolster, the doctor meantime smiling at Hélène, who felt very ill at ease.
“Mother Fétu,” she said softly, “I have brought you a little linen.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you; God will requite you! You’re just like this kind, good gentleman, who does more good to poor folks than a host of those who declare it their special work. You don’t know what great care he has taken of me for four months past, supplying me with medicine and broth and wine. One rarely finds a rich person so kind to a poor soul! Oh, he’s another of God’s angels! Dear, dear, I seem to have quite a house in my stomach!”
In his turn the doctor now seemed to be embarrassed. He rose and offered his chair to Hélène; but although she had come with the intention of remaining a quarter of an hour, she declined to sit down, on the plea that she was in a great hurry.
Meanwhile, Mother Fétu, still rolling her head to and fro, had stretched out her hand, and the parcel of linen had vanished in the bed. Then she resumed:
“Oh, what a couple of good souls you are! I don’t wish to offend you; I only say it because it’s true. When you have seen one, you have seen the other. Oh, dear Lord! give me a hand and help me to turn round. Kind-hearted people understand one another. Yes, yes, they understand one another.”
“Good-bye, Mother Fétu,” said Hélène, leaving the doctor in sole possession. “I don’t think I shall call to-morrow.”
The next day, however, found her in the attic again. The old woman was sound asleep, but scarcely had she opened her eyes and recognized Hélène in her black dress sitting on the chair than she exclaimed: