"Yes—ah, yes! Ah! I love you the same as ever,—although I cannot—not say—you see—because—oh, my head, my head!"
Louise looked at Rodolph in extreme alarm.
"He is suffering deeply; but let him calm himself. Go on."
Louise, after looking twice or thrice at Morel with great disquietude, thus resumed:
"I clasped my infant to my breast, and was astonished at not hearing it breathe. I said to myself, 'The breathing of a baby is so faint that it is difficult to hear it.' But then it was so cold. I had no light, for they never would leave one with me. I waited until the dawn came, trying to keep it warm as well as I could; but it seemed to me colder and colder. I said to myself then; 'It freezes so hard that it must be the cold that chills it so.' At daybreak I carried my child to the window and looked at it; it was stiff and cold. I placed my mouth to its mouth, to try and feel its breath. I put my hand on its heart; but it did not beat; it was dead."
And Louise burst into tears.
"Oh! at this moment," she continued, "something passed within me which it is impossible to describe. I only remember confusedly what followed,—it was like a dream,—it was at once despair, terror, rage, and above all, I was seized with another fear; I no longer feared M. Ferrand would strangle me, but I feared that, if they found my child dead by my side, I should be accused of having killed it. Then I had but one thought, and that was to conceal the corpse from everybody's sight; and then my dishonour would not be known, and I should no longer have to dread my father's anger. I should escape from M. Ferrand's vengeance, because I could now leave his house, obtain another situation, and gain something to help and support my family. Alas! sir, such were the reasons which induced me not to say any thing, but try and hide my child's remains from all eyes. I was wrong, I know; but, in the situation in which I was, oppressed on all sides, worn out by suffering, and almost mad, I did not consider to what I exposed myself if I should be discovered."
"What torture! what torture!" said Rodolph with deep sympathy.
"The day was advancing," continued Louise, "and I had but a few moments before me until the household would be stirring. I hesitated no longer, but, wrapping up the unhappy babe as well as I could, I descended the staircase silently, and went to the bottom of the garden to try and make a hole in the ground to bury it; but it had frozen so hard in the night that I could not dig up the earth. So I concealed the body in the bottom of a sort of cellar, into which no one entered during the winter, and then I covered it up with an empty box which had held flowers, and returned to my apartment, without any person having seen me. Of all I tell you, sir, I have but a very confused recollection. Weak as I was, it is inexplicable to me how I had strength and courage to do all I did. At nine o'clock Madame Séraphin came to inquire why I had not risen. I told her that I was so very ill, and prayed of her to allow me to remain in bed during the day, and that on the following day I should quit the house, as M. Ferrand had dismissed me. At the end of an hour's time, he came himself. 'You are worse to-day. Ah! that is the consequence of your obstinacy,' said he; 'if you had taken advantage of my kind offer, you would to-day have been comfortably settled with some worthy people, who would have taken every care of you; but I will not be so cruel as to leave you without help in your present situation; and this evening Doctor Vincent shall come and see you.' At this threat I shuddered; but I replied to M. Ferrand that I was wrong to refuse his offers the evening before, and that I would now accept them; but that, being too ill to move then, I could not go until the day after the next to the Martials, and that it was useless to send for Doctor Vincent. I only sought to gain time, for I had made up my mind to leave the house, and go the next day to my father, whom I hoped to keep in ignorance of all. Relying on my promise, M. Ferrand was almost kind to me, and, for the first time in his life, recommended Madame Séraphin to take care of me. I passed the day in mental agony, trembling every instant lest the body of my child should be accidentally discovered. I was only anxious that the frost should break up, so that, the ground not being so hard, I might be able to dig it up. The snow began to fall, and that gave me some hopes. I remained all day in bed, and when the night came, I waited until every one should be asleep, and then I summoned strength enough to rise and go to the wood-closet, where I found a chopper, with which I hoped to dig a hole in the ground which was covered with snow. After immense trouble I succeeded, and then, taking the body, I wept bitterly over it, and buried it as well as I could in the little box that had held flowers. I did not know the prayer for the dead; but I said a Pater and an Ave, and prayed to the good God to receive it into Paradise. I thought my courage would fail me when I was covering the mould over the sort of bier I had made. A mother burying her own child! At length I completed my task, and ah, what it cost me! I covered the place all over with snow, that it might conceal every trace of what I had done. The moon had lighted me; yet, when all was done, I could hardly resolve to go away. Poor little innocent!—in the icy ground,—beneath the snow! Although it was dead, yet I still seemed to fear that it must feel the cold. At length I returned to my chamber; and when I got into bed I was in a violent fever. In the morning M. Ferrand sent to know how I found myself. I replied that I was a little better, and that I felt sure I should be strong enough to go next day into the country. I remained the whole of the day in bed, hoping to acquire a little strength, and in the evening I arose and went down into the kitchen to warm myself. I was then quite alone, and then went out into the garden to to say a last prayer. As I went up to my room I met M. Germain on the landing-place of the study in which he wrote sometimes, looking very pale. He said to me hastily, placing a rouleau of money in my hand, 'They are going to arrest your father to-morrow morning for an over-due bill of thirteen hundred francs; he is unable to pay it; but here is the money. As soon as it is light, run to him. It was only to-day that I found out what sort of a man M. Ferrand is; and he is a villain. I will unmask him. Above all, do not say that you have the money from me.'
"M. Germain did not even give me time to thank him, but ran quickly down-stairs. This morning," continued Louise, "before any one had risen at M. Ferrand's, I came here with the money which M. Germain had given me to save my father; but it was not enough, and but for your generosity, I could not have rescued him from the bailiff's hands. Probably, after I had left, they went into my room and, having suspicions, have now sent to arrest me. One last service, sir," said Louise, taking the rouleau of gold from her pocket, "will you give back this money to M. Germain; I had promised him not to say to any one that he was employed at M. Ferrand's; but, since you know it, I have not broken my confidence. Now, sir, I repeat to you before God, who hears me, that I have not said a word that is not quite true; I have not tried to hide my faults, and—"