"I shall sleep well enough there; anyway, a nurse can't sleep much."
Elina, having to return to her aunt, left them with regret, saying:
"Until to-morrow!"
Then, after administering to her patient a draught prescribed by the doctor, Bastringuette lay down on the mattress on the floor of the closet.
"I'll be on hand if you make the least movement," she said to Paul.
Early the next morning, Elina was at the flower girl's, bringing some sugar and a small jar of preserve.
"It's my right to help take care of him," she said to Bastringuette. "My aunt gives me so much a day for my food, and I can afford to pinch myself a little for my poor Paul."
That seemed natural enough to Bastringuette, for she would have done as much.
If the certainty of being loved had been sufficient to restore the young messenger's health, Paul would have been cured in a very short time. But such was not the case; unluckily, the patient's mind was constantly occupied by other thoughts. He was worried and alarmed by his helpless plight, and the wound on his head, instead of cicatrizing, became more serious, because it was complicated by a sharp attack of fever.
The two girls redoubled their zealous attentions to the patient; Bastringuette passed part of the night with him; Elina sometimes arrived before daybreak, and often remained very late in the evening, having succeeded in making her aunt believe that she worked late at Madame Dumanchon's. Both of them deprived themselves of the most essential necessities of life, so that the sick man need lack nothing; but neither of them complained nor would have consented to surrender the place she occupied.