“Oh! yes, but they must have permission—or else—”
“Here,” said Clement in a low tone, “mine will answer for both.”
The guide seemed to find the reply satisfactory; he pocketed the gold piece Clement slipped into his hand and made no further objection. They walked swiftly after him towards one of the buildings just referred to which was the best lighted. As they approached, they saw the light proceeded from a large fire kindled in the open air, around which quite a number were warming themselves, some squatting down, others standing, and some asleep near enough to the fire not to freeze to death; all lit up with the wild light which revealed their bearded faces, their angular fur caps, and their sheep-skin caftans. Here and there were some venders of brandy, who furnished them with a more efficacious means of resisting the cold even than the fire in the brazier.
Clement and his companion passed rapidly by this group, not, however, without being assailed by some annoying words. A vigorous blow from Clement sent a curious winebibber flying back who attempted to lift Fleurange's veil. This lesson was sufficient, and they arrived without any further annoyance at the door of the building decorated with the name of hospital, which was only a long, spacious wooden gallery.
They entered. Passing thus suddenly from the light of the great fire, and the sharpness of the extreme cold, into the obscurity and warmth of the ambulance, their first sensations were caused by the darkness and stifling atmosphere. Fleurange hastily threw back her veil, then took off her hat and unclasped her cloak, for she could not breathe; she felt nearly ready to faint from the effects of this sudden transition, but she almost immediately recovered. Clement was alarmed at first, but soon saw she was able to continue their sad search. As soon as their eyes became accustomed to the dim light around them, they saw the long row of pallets on which lay, in all the frightful varieties of suffering, nearly two hundred human beings whose mingled groanings rose on all sides like one sad cry of pain, enough to chill the veins with horror, and excite the pity of the most courageous and most hardened heart.
That of Fleurange beat painfully as they slowly advanced through the obstructed space. Clement was remorsefully regretting his consent to bring her to such a place, when all at once a moan, followed by some words indicative of delirium, checked every other thought, and kept them motionless where they stood. They listened—which of these unfortunate beings had uttered those words? They looked around as well as the poor light permitted, but on all these sick-beds so close to each other they did not perceive one whose features bore the least resemblance to those of the unhappy man whose voice they thought they recognized.
“I beg you to lend me your light only for a moment,” said Fleurange, in a low, supplicating tone to an infirmarian to whom she had just heard some one speak in German, and who was rudely passing by her, lantern in hand.
The infirmarian stopped at hearing his language spoken, and looked at the young girl with surprise, then, as if softened by her aspect, he gave her the lantern, saying: “You can have it while I am gone to the other end of the ward; I will take it when I return.” As Clement took it, the light flashed across Fleurange's face and uncovered head. Instantly there was a cry, an almost convulsive movement, and Gabrielle's name was pronounced by the voice they had just heard. This indicated which of the miserable beds contained him whom they sought. They both approached with full hearts. By the aid of the lamp they gazed at the dying man. Was it really he?—was that Felix? His voice and words left no doubt, and yet there was nothing in that face, disfigured by agony and a horrible wound, to recall him whom they saw last in all the fulness of strength and the pride of youth. After his exclamation, he fell back almost lifeless, and Clement trembled as he bent down to ascertain if he still breathed. His heart was beating, though feebly and irregularly.
“Felix,” said he, “do you hear me? Do you know me?”
Felix opened his eyes. “What a strange dream!” murmured he. “It seems as if they were all here. That vision a moment ago, and now this [pg 614] voice—O my God, would I might never awake!”