Virginie gazed anxiously at the doctor’s face while he was feeling the invalid’s pulse. His eyes gave no favorable indication; while Auguste, heedless of everything that was going on about him, seemed neither to see nor to hear anything.
“Well, monsieur?” queried Virginie at last.
“The young man is in bad shape; he has a high fever and there is every reason to expect that it will increase; however, with extreme care, I hope we shall save him.”
“Oh, monsieur, don’t neglect anything, I beg you!”
“But he is very badly off here; the room is so small, there is so little air, and the sun beats down so fiercely on the roofs, and makes these garrets burning hot; this is a very unhealthy place.”
“Oh! he shall leave this garret this very day; he shall live in my room as long as he’s sick. It’s right below here; he’ll be much more comfortable there, for it’s a good size, at least—one can turn round in it. He’d have been there before this if I could have carried him alone. If you would be kind enough to help me, monsieur, it would soon be done!”
“Let’s try it, mademoiselle.”
And the doctor went to the bed and lifted the only mattress that there was on the straw; Virginie did the same on the other side, and thus they carried Auguste to the floor below and laid him upon the only bed in the room.
“Where will you sleep, mademoiselle?” queried the doctor.
“Oh! that don’t worry me, monsieur. I’ll bring down the straw bed from upstairs; indeed, I shan’t feel like sleeping as long as he’s sick.”