She could find nothing to say. She could only press his hand more and more tightly.
“I’m glad you brought the dog,” he continued. “It will be less lonely for you.” And then he beckoned to the doctor and asked him and Madame Nozières to leave the room for a moment. When they had gone, he drew Ellen nearer to him and said, “You must not be hard with her. She is a lady. Madame Nozières is not her name. It is I who am to blame if any one. I wanted to marry her.... I’m not talking rot. We had planned it.” And then for a time he was silent as if too weak to go on.
Pressing his hand more tightly, she whispered, “How could I be hard? Nothing matters ... only one thing.”
He coughed and continued. “She has done everything. She has risked the rest of her life to save me. Chausson is the great Chausson ... the surgeon from Neuilly. She knows him and he knows her husband. They are old friends. That was why he came. He is a busy man and a great surgeon. You see, she risked everything ... her reputation, her future ... everything. She did not hesitate to send for him.”
She knew now why the name had been familiar. She had heard it everywhere in the journals, from her friends in Paris. If the great Chausson believed there was no hope....
“She is a good woman ... a charming woman, Ellen. Madame Nozières is not her name. If she chooses to tell you who she is, be good to her, because I loved her.”
“I will do what you wish.”
He grinned again suddenly. “Think of it ... to get it now, after three years ... to get it now on the asphalt a block from the Trocadéro!” And then his face grew bitter. “It’s a joke ... that is!” And then, dimly, sleepily, he murmured, “We must hurry ... we must hurry.”
Ellen, still silent, found that she was praying idiotically for a thing which could never be. She knew now, sharply and cruelly, what the war, that grand parade, had been. Fergus who had loved life so passionately, who found pleasure and excitement everywhere! Fergus whom they had all loved so that they had spoiled him! Fergus lying there with his blond, curly head against the white pillows under the flying gilt swans! Those voluptuous, sensual swans! Eagles they should have been!
She could do nothing but wait. The minutes rushed past her, furiously. (We must hurry, he had said.) On the gilt dressing table one of the candles had begun to gutter and fade.