“Possibly,” said the judicious physician.
“I know your possibly,” said Valerie. “I shall look like a woman who has fallen into the fire! No, leave me to the Church. I can please no one now but God. I will try to be reconciled to Him, and that will be my last flirtation; yes, I must try to come round God!”
“That is my poor Valerie’s last jest; that is all herself!” said Lisbeth in tears.
Lisbeth thought it her duty to go into Crevel’s room, where she found Victorin and his wife sitting about a yard away from the stricken man’s bed.
“Lisbeth,” said he, “they will not tell me what state my wife is in; you have just seen her—how is she?”
“She is better; she says she is saved,” replied Lisbeth, allowing herself this play on the word to soothe Crevel’s mind.
“That is well,” said the Mayor. “I feared lest I had been the cause of her illness. A man is not a traveler in perfumery for nothing; I had blamed myself.—If I should lose her, what would become of me? On my honor, my children, I worship that woman.”
He sat up in bed and tried to assume his favorite position.
“Oh, Papa!” cried Celestine, “if only you could be well again, I would make friends with my stepmother—I make a vow!”
“Poor little Celestine!” said Crevel, “come and kiss me.”