She sprang up and laid her hand upon her husband’s arm. “He is not dead—you need not do it, Louis,” she said quietly. There was no alarm, no undue excitement in her face now. She was acting with good presence of mind. A new sense was working in her. Something had gone from her suddenly where her husband was concerned, and something else had taken its place. An infinite pity, a bitter sorrow, and a gentle command were in her eyes all at once—new vistas of life opened before her, all in an instant.
“He is not dead, and there is no need to kill yourself, Louis,” she repeated, and her voice had a command in it that was not to be gainsaid. “Since you have vindicated your honour, you will now help me to set this business right.”
Madame Marie was on her knees beside the insensible man. “No, he is not dead, thank God!” she murmured, and while Havel stripped the arm and leg, she poured some water between Fournel’s lips. Her long experience as the Little Chemist’s wife served her well now.
Now that the excitement was over, Louis collapsed. He swayed and would have fallen, but Madelinette caught him, helped him to the sofa, and, forcing him gently down on his side, adjusted a pillow for him, and turned to the wounded man again.
An hour went busily by in the closely-curtained room, and at last George Fournel, conscious, and with wounds well bandaged, sat in a big arm-chair, glowering round him. At his first coming-to, Louis Racine, at his wife’s insistence, had come and offered his hand, and made apology for assaulting him in his own house.
Fournel’s reply had been that he wanted to hear no more fool’s talk and to have no more fool’s doings, and that one day he hoped to take his pay for the day’s business in a satisfactory way.
Madelinette made no apology, said nothing, save that she hoped he would remain for a few days till he was recovered enough to be moved. He replied that he would leave as soon as his horses were ready, and refused to take food or drink from their hands. His servant was brought from the Louis Quinze Hotel, and through him he got what was needed for refreshment, and requested that no one of the household should come near him. At night, in the darkness, he took his departure, no servant of the household in attendance. But as he got into the carriage, Madelinette came quickly to him, and said:
“I would give ten years of my life to undo to-day’s work.”
“I have no quarrel with you, Madame,” he said gloomily, raised his hat, and was driven away.