“And in the meantime,” said Corinna, “my grand ami, Number 17 down there, will have got well and departed from the hospital.”
“Mademoiselle,” said he, “you have already saved the life of one gallant Frenchman. Don’t you think that should give you a sentiment of duty accomplished?”
She blushed. He was kind. For he was young and she was pretty.
“I can let you see your gros heureux to-day,” said he. “It is a favour. It is against the règlement. If the major hears of it, there will be trouble. By the grace of God he has a bilious attack which confines him to his quarters. But, bien entendu, it is for this time only.”
She thanked him and again found herself by Bigourdin’s bedside. The moment of her first sight of him was the happiest in her life. She had wrought a miracle. He was a different man inspired with the supreme will to live. The young doctor had spoken truly. A spasm of joy shook her. At last she had been of some use in the world. . . . She saw too the Bigourdin whom she had known. His great, black beard had vanished. One of the camarades, with two disposable arms, had hunted through the kits of the patients for a razor and had shaved him.
“They tell me I am getting on magnificently,” said he. “This morning there is no longer any danger. In a few months I shall be as solid as ever I was. It is happiness that has cured me.”
They talked. She told him of her conversation with the aide-major. He reflected for a moment. Then he said:
“Do you wish to please me?”
“What am I here for?” asked Corinna.
“You are here to spoil me. Anyhow—if you wish to please me, go to Brantôme, and await me. To know that you are there, chez-moi, will give me the courage of a thousand lions, and you will be able to console my poor Félise who every night is praying for Martin by the side of her little white bed.”