So said Monsieur Papalier in the delirium of his fever, as Madame Dessalines was nursing him in his chamber at Saint Marc. It was a sad and dreary office; but she had motive to go through with it. The more he wandered back in his talk to the old days, the more strongly she felt herself called upon to use the present generously. The more imperious the tone of command with which he addressed her, the more easily could she pass over the error. There was a degree of pleasure in giving momentary case to him, while he could not recognise the hand that bestowed it. She dreaded, however, for the sake of both, an hour of sanity. If he slept for a short interval, she feared to hear him speak coherently on his waking; and the more because little or no chance of his recovery remained. The thought of his carrying forward into the hour of death the insolent temper of his life was terrible. She almost hoped that, if he were to die, it would be without having been aware that he and his nurse were no longer master and slave.
She was his sole nurse. There was no alternative between this and her not being with him at all. It was impossible to allow any servant, any stranger, to hear his talk of old times—to witness the mode in which he addressed her. Except the physician, no one but herself entered his chamber during his waking hours.
She now sat, as he desired, full in his view, at the foot of the bed, encouraging repose by her stillness, and gladly turning from the ghastly countenance of the dying man to the scene without—visible in all its splendour, as the room had a north aspect, and the window stood wide, to admit the breathing wind from the sea. The deep blue sea, under the heaven of a lighter blue, looked glorious from the shaded apartment. The rustle of the trees in the courtyard, and the fall of water there, spoke of coolness, and seemed to make themselves heard by the patient even in the midst of the fever-flames by which he was consumed, for he spoke of trees and fountains, and fancied himself at Arabie. He asked Thérèse to sing; and told her what to sing. She did not wish to refuse; she would have indulged him; but there was a choking in her throat which forbade it. Papalier was not long peremptory. From commanding, his voice sank to complaining; from complaining, to the muttering of troubled slumber; and, at length, into the silence of sleep.
Thérèse sat still, as before, looking out upon the sea, till its brightness, combined with the whispers of foliage and waters, made her eyes heavy, and disposed her to sleep too. Leaning back against the bed-post, she was dreaming that she was awake, when she heard her name so called that she awoke with a start. Papalier was himself again, and was demanding where he was, and what had been the matter. He felt the blister on his head; he complained of the soreness and stiffness of his mouth and tongue; he tried to raise himself, and could not; and, on the full discovery of his state, he wept like a child.
Gently, but not tenderly, did Thérèse endeavour to comfort him. He had irrecoverably forfeited her tenderness. Gentle, however, she was, as she told him that his state now, however painful, was better than an hour ago, when he was unconscious of it. Gentle was her hand, when she wrapped fresh, cool leaves round his burning head. Gentle was her voice, when she persuaded him to drink. Gentle was the expression of her eye, when she fixed its gaze upon his face, and by its influence caused him to check, like a child, the sobs that shook his frame.
“Thérèse,” said he, “I am dying. I feel that I am dying. Oh! what must I do?”
“We must wait upon God’s pleasure. Let us wait in quiet. Is there anything that can give you quiet of mind or body?”
Tears stole again from the heavy, closing eyes.
“We are all familiar with the end of our lives, almost from their beginning,” said Thérèse. “There is nothing strange or surprising in it. The great thing is to throw off any burden—any anxiety—and then to be still. An easy mind is the great thing, whether recovery is at hand, or—”
“Do not talk of recovery. I shall not recover.”