“She says she is sick.” The man suffered an acrid smile to show in the corners of his mouth.
“Jane sick!” said the priest, much concerned. “Is there any one with her? Has anything been done for her?”
In speaking, he took a step toward the door.
“Oh! don't you trouble yourself, sir,” interposed Andrew quickly, finding that he must deny himself the pleasure of a long cross-examination. “She says she doesn't want anything or anybody. She'll get well when she's ready. She's got the supper, and I can manage to bring it up. All the doctors and all the nurses in the world won't make her well till she's a mind to be.”
“Well, well!” said F. Chevreuse, rather mortified at this exposition of his domestic trials. “Bring up the supper.”
Jane had, in fact, one of those convenient illnesses sometimes indulged in by some women, and now and then by men, when they are seized by a fit of ungovernable ill-humor which they dare not show in its true guise, or when they desire to appear very much abused, or to escape blame for some ill-doing. F. Chevreuse had not been home since early morning, and dinner had been prepared, had waited, and been put away—no small grievance to even a good-natured housekeeper. Secondly, about noon, when all the rest of the city knew it, Andrew above all, the great news of the day had burst upon Jane. It was too much; and when, toward evening, Andrew had come home with an order that supper should be prepared for two that night, and a little extra preparation made, and that, moreover, the priest's visitor would stay all night, the housekeeper's cup ran over. News had started from the priest's house, and made the circuit of the city, electrifying everybody, and she had been the last to hear it, and had heard it at last from Andrew! She would not have dared to hint such a thing; but she thought that F. Chevreuse should have told her before leaving the house, even if he had commanded her silence. It would have saved her the mortification of being taken entirely by surprise and displaying such utter ignorance.
While she mused, the fire burned. She would henceforth bear herself very stiffly toward F. Chevreuse. Since he thought that she was not to be trusted, that she was nothing but a servant, she would act like a servant. All those things which she had done for his comfort without being asked she would now wait to be asked to do. He should see the difference between a housekeeper, who should, according to her opinion, be in some sort a friend, and a mere hired servant. She would be very dignified, and immensely respectful and reverential; would be astonished if he should ask if anything was the matter; would do in great and anxious haste whatever he should command, [pg 494] and no more than he commanded; and she would go to F. O'Donovan for confession. In short, this woman, who knew that all the comfort of the priest's home depended on her, marked out for herself a line of conduct which would have made that home a place of penance to him, and herself a minister of torment; while at the same time she could not only hold herself guiltless of fault, but even assume an air of unwonted sanctity.
To be frankly and honestly disagreeable or wicked, one does not need to study; but a pious hatefulness requires careful preparation.
Her plan of future conduct arranged, Jane perceived that a notable pivot was needed where it should turn from her past behavior; and what so suitable as a short illness? Besides, she did not feel equal to assuming her new rôle as yet. The temptation was too strong to give way to anger. She bewailed Mrs. Gerald, therefore, with many tears; Mrs. Gerald's death, which might have happened from any other cause, being the only point in the whole story which she would recognize or hear anything about. Weeping brought on a headache, and the headache increased. At five o'clock in the afternoon Jane bound her head up in a wet linen band, and began to feel unable to stand or walk. Duty alone compelled her to keep about. What would become of the house, if she were to give up? What could a poor woman do who had no home or friends of her own, and was obliged to take care of a priest's house? She must work and watch early and late, sick or well. Nobody but herself knew what a trial it was. And here the victim began to weep over her own misfortunes.
Presently, at six o'clock, Jane began to feel a pain in her back; but nothing would induce her to rest. F. Chevreuse had sent word that he would have some one to sup and stay all night, and she must get the bed-room ready, and cook something extra. She didn't see how she could do it, but it must be done.