A Love Episode | Page 4

between the two
houses --memory suddenly awoke within her.
"True, you are a doctor!" she murmured, "and I knew it. But I was
distracted. Oh, let us hurry!"
On the staircase she wished him to go first. She could not have
admitted the Divinity to her home in a more reverent manner. Upstairs
Rosalie had remained near the child, and had lit the large lamp on the
table. After the doctor had entered the room he took up this lamp and
cast its light upon the body of the child, which retained its painful
rigidity; the head, however, had slipped forward, and nervous
twitchings were ceaselessly drawing the face. For a minute he looked

on in silence, his lips compressed. Helene anxiously watched him, and
on noticing the mother's imploring glance, he muttered: "It will be
nothing. But she must not lie here. She must have air."
Helene grasped her child in a strong embrace, and carried her away on
her shoulder. She could have kissed the doctor's hand for his good
tidings, and a wave of happiness rippled through her. Scarcely,
however, had Jeanne been placed in the larger bed than her poor little
frame was again seized with violent convulsions. The doctor had
removed the shade from the lamp, and a white light was streaming
through the room. Then, opening a window, he ordered Rosalie to drag
the bed away from the curtains. Helene's heart was again filled with
anguish. "Oh, sir, she is dying," she stammered. "Look! look! Ah! I
scarcely recognize her."
The doctor did not reply, but watched the paroxysm attentively.
"Step into the alcove," he at last exclaimed. "Hold her hands to prevent
her from tearing herself. There now, gently, quietly! Don't make
yourself uneasy. The fit must be allowed to run its course."
They both bent over the bed, supporting and holding Jeanne, whose
limbs shot out with sudden jerks. The doctor had buttoned up his coat
to hide his bare neck, and Helene's shoulders had till now been
enveloped in her shawl; but Jeanne in her struggles dragged a corner of
the shawl away, and unbuttoned the top of the coat. Still they did not
notice it; they never even looked at one another.
[Illustration: Jeanne's Illness]
At last the convulsion ceased, and the little one then appeared to sink
into deep prostration. Doctor Deberle was evidently ill at ease, though
he had assured the mother that there was no danger. He kept his gaze
fixed on the sufferer, and put some brief questions to Helene as she
stood by the bedside.
"How old is the child?"

"Eleven years and six months, sir," was the reply.
Silence again fell between them. He shook his head, and stooped to
raise one of Jeanne's lowered eyelids and examine the mucus. Then he
resumed his questions, but without raising his eyes to Helene.
"Did she have convulsions when she was a baby?"
"Yes, sir; but they left her after she reached her sixth birthday. Ah! she
is very delicate. For some days past she had seemed ill at ease. She was
at times taken with cramp, and plunged in a stupor."
"Do you know of any members of your family that have suffered from
nervous affections?"
"I don't know. My mother was carried off by consumption."
Here shame made her pause. She could not confess that she had a
grandmother who was an inmate of a lunatic asylum.[*] There was
something tragic connected with all her ancestry.
[*] This is Adelaide Fouque, otherwise Aunt Dide, the ancestress of the
Rougon-Macquart family, whose early career is related in the "Fortune
of the Rougons," whilst her death is graphically described in the pages
of "Dr. Pascal."
"Take care! the convulsions are coming on again!" now hastily
exclaimed the doctor.
Jeanne had just opened her eyes, and for a moment she gazed around
her with a vacant look, never speaking a word. Her glance then grew
fixed, her body was violently thrown backwards, and her limbs became
distended and rigid. Her skin, fiery-red, all at once turned livid. Her
pallor was the pallor of death; the convulsions began once more.
"Do not loose your hold of her," said the doctor. "Take her other hand!"
He ran to the table, where, on entering, he had placed a small
medicine-case. He came back with a bottle, the contents of which he

made Jeanne inhale; but the effect was like that of a terrible lash; the
child gave such a violent jerk that she slipped from her mother's hands.
"No, no, don't give her ether," exclaimed Helene, warned by the odor.
"It drives her mad."
The two had now scarcely strength enough to keep the child under
control. Her frame was racked and distorted, raised by the heels and the
nape of the neck,