THE PATIENT.
At the end of the Rue de Vaugirard, there was then a very high wall, with only one small doorway in all its length.On opening this door, you entered a yard surrounded by a railing, with screens like Venetian blinds, to prevent your seeing between the rails.Crossing this courtyard, you come to a fine large garden, symmetrically planted, at the end of which stood a building two stories high, looking perfectly comfortable, without luxury, but with all that cozy simplicity which betokens discreet opulence.A few days had elapsed since Father d'Aigrigny had been so courageously rescued by Gabriel from the popular fury.Three ecclesiastics, wearing black gowns, white bands, and square caps, were walking in the garden with a slow and measured step.The youngest seemed to be about thirty years of age; his countenance was pale, hollow, and impressed with a certain ascetic austerity.His two companions, aged between fifty or sixty, had, on the contrary, faces at once hypocritical and cunning; their round, rosy cheeks shone brightly in the sunshine, whilst their triple chins, buried in fat, descended in soft folds over the fine cambric of their bands.According to the rules of their order (they belonged to the Society of Jesus), which forbade their walking only two together, these three members of the brotherhood never quitted each other a moment.
"I fear," said one of the two, continuing a conversation already begun, and speaking of an absent person, "I fear, that the continual agitation to which the reverend father has been a prey, ever since he was attacked with the cholera, has exhausted his strength, and caused the dangerous relapse which now makes us fear for his life."
"They say," resumed the other, "that never was there seen anxiety like to his."
"And moreover," remarked the young priest, bitterly, "it is painful to think, that his reverence Father Rodin has given cause for scandal, by obstinately refusing to make a public confession, the day before yesterday when his situation appeared so desperate, that, between two fits of a delirium, it was thought right to propose to him to receive the last sacraments."
"His reverence declared that he was not so ill as they supposed,"
answered one of the fathers, "and that he would have the last duties performed when he thought necessary."
"The fact is, that for the last ten days, ever since he was brought here dying, his life has been, as it were, only a long and painful agony; and yet he continues to live."
"I watched by him during the first three days of his malady, with M.
Rousselet, the pupil of Dr.Baleinier," resumed the youngest father; "he had hardly a moment's consciousness, and when the Lord did grant him a lucid interval, he employed it in detestable execrations against the fate which had confined him to his bed."
"It is said," resumed the other, "that Father Rodin made answer to his Eminence Cardinal Malipieri, who came to persuade him to die in an exemplary manner, worthy of a son of Loyola, our blessed founder"--at these words, the three Jesuits bowed their heads together, as if they had been all moved by the same spring--"it is said, that Father Rodin made answer to his eminence: `I do not need to confess publicly; I WANT TO
LIVE, AND I WILL LIVE.'"
"I did not hear that," said the young priest, with an indignant air; "but if Father Rodin really made use of such expressions, it is--"
Here, no doubt, reflection came to him just in time, for he stole a sidelong glance at his two silent, impassible companions, and added: "It is a great misfortune for his soul; but I am certain, his reverence has been slandered."
"It was only as a calumnious report, that I mentioned those words," said the other priest, exchanging a glance with his companion.
One of the garden gates opened, and one of the three reverend fathers exclaimed, at the sight of the personage who now entered: "Oh! here is his Eminence Cardinal Malipieri, coming to pay a visit to Father Rodin."
"May this visit of his eminence," said the young priest, calmly, "be more profitable to Father Rodin than the last!"
Cardinal Malipieri was crossing the garden, on his way to the apartment occupied by Rodin.
Cardinal Malipieri, whom we saw assisting at the sort of council held at the Princess de Saint-Dizier's, now on his way to Rodin's apartment, was dressed as a layman, but enveloped in an ample pelisse of puce-colored satin, which exhaled a strong odor of camphor, for the prelate had taken care to surround himself with all sorts of anti-cholera specifics.
Having reached the second story of the house, the cardinal knocked at a little gray door.Nobody answering, he opened it, and, like a man to whom the locality was well known, passed through a sort of antechamber, and entered a room in which was a turn-up bed.On a black wood table were many phials, which had contained different medicines.The prelate's countenance seemed uneasy and morose; his complexion was still yellow and bilious; the brown circle which surrounded his black, squinting eyes appeared still darker than usual.
Pausing a moment, he looked round him almost in fear, and several times stopped to smell at his anti-cholera bottle.Then, seeing he was alone, he approached a glass over the chimney-piece, and examined with much attention the color of his tongue; after some minutes spent in this careful investigation, with the result of which he appeared tolerably satisfied, he took some preservative lozenges out of a golden box, and allowed them to melt in his mouth, whilst he closed his eyes with a sanctified air.Having taken these sanitary precautions, and again pressed his bottle to his nose, the prelate prepared to enter the third room, when he heard a tolerably loud noise through the thin partition which separated him from it, and, stopping to listen, all that was said in the next apartment easily reached his ear.
"Now that my wounds are dressed, I will get up," said weak, but sharp and imperious voice.
