Damaged Goods Part 12

But the doctor did not take these tidings as the other had hoped he might. He replied: "The malady which the nurse will almost inevitably contract in feeding the child is too grave in its consequences. Such consequences might go as far as complete helplessness, even as far as death. So I say that the indemnity, whatever it might be, would not pay the damage."

"But," exclaimed the other, "she accepts it! She is mistress of herself, and she has the right--"

"I am not at all certain that she has the right to sell her own health.

And I am certain that she has not the right to sell the health of her husband and her children. If she becomes infected, it is nearly certain that she will communicate the disease to them; the health and the life of the children she might have later on would be greatly compromised.

Such things she cannot possibly sell. Come, madame, you must see that a bargain of this sort isn't possible. If the evil has not been done, you must do everything to avoid it."

"Sir," protested the mother, wildly, "you do not defend our interests!"

"Madame," was the reply, "I defend those who are weakest."

"If we had called in our own physician, who knows us," she protested, "he would have taken sides with us."

The doctor rose, with a severe look on his face. "I doubt it," he said, "but there is still time to call him."

George broke in with a cry of distress. "Sir, I implore you!"

And the mother in turn cried. "Don't abandon us, sir! You ought to make allowances! If you knew what that child is to me! I tell you it seems to me as if I had waited for her coming in order to die. Have pity upon us!

Have pity upon her! You speak of the weakest--it is not she who is the weakest? You have seen her, you have seen that poor little baby, so emaciated! You have seen what a heap of suffering she is already; and cannot that inspire in you any sympathy? I pray you, sir--I pray you!"

"I pity her," said the doctor, "I would like to save her--and I will do everything for her. But do not ask me to sacrifice to a feeble infant, with an uncertain and probably unhappy life, the health of a sound and robust woman. It is useless for us to continue such a discussion as that."

Whereupon Madame Dupont leaped up in sudden frenzy. "Very Well!" she exclaimed. "I will not follow your counsels, I will not listen to you!"

Said the doctor in a solemn voice: "There is already some one here who regrets that he did not listen to me."

"Yes," moaned George, "to my misfortune, to the misfortune of all of us."

But Madame Dupont was quite beside herself. "Very well!" she cried. "If it is a fault, if it is a crime, if I shall have to suffer remorse for it in this life, and all the punishments in the life to come--I accept it all for myself alone! Myself alone, I take that responsibility! It is frightfully heavy, but I accept it. I am profoundly a Christian sir; I believe in eternal d.a.m.nation; but to save my little child I consent to lose my soul forever. Yes, my mind is made up--I will do everything to save that life! Let G.o.d judge me; and if he condemns me, so much the worse for me!"

The doctor answered: "That responsibility is one which I cannot let you take, for it will be necessary that I should accept my part, and I refuse it."

"What will you do?"

"I shall warn the nurse. I shall inform her exactly, completely--something which you have not done, I feel sure."

"What?" cried Madame Dupont, wildly. "You, a doctor, called into a family which gives you its entire confidence, which hands over to you its most terrible secrets, its most horrible miseries--you would betray them?"

"It is not a betrayal," replied the man, sternly. "It is something which the law commands; and even if the law were silent, I would not permit a family of worthy people to go astray so far as to commit a crime. Either I give up the case, or you have the nursing of the child stopped."

"You threaten! You threaten!" cried the woman, almost frantic. "You abuse the power which your knowledge gives you! You know that it is you whose attention we need by that little cradle; you know that we believe in you, and you threaten to abandon us! Your abandonment means the death of the child, perhaps! And if I listen to you, if we stop the nursing of the child--that also means her death!"

She flung up her hands like a mad creature. "And yet there is no other means! Ah, my G.o.d! Why do you not let it be possible for me to sacrifice myself? I would wish nothing more than to be able to do it--if only you might take my old body, my old flesh, my old bones--if only I might serve for something! How quickly would I consent that it should infect me--this atrocious malady! How I would offer myself to it--with what joys, with what delights--however disgusting, however frightful it might be, however much to be dreaded! Yes, I would take it without fear, without regret, if my poor old empty b.r.e.a.s.t.s might still give to the child the milk which would preserve its life!"

She stopped; and George sprang suddenly from his seat, and fled to her and flung himself down upon his knees before her, mingling his sobs and tears with hers.

The doctor rose and moved about the room, unable any longer to control his distress. "Oh, the poor people!" he murmured to himself. "The poor, poor people!"

The storm pa.s.sed, and Madame Dupont, who was a woman of strong character, got herself together. Facing the doctor again, she said, "Come, sir, tell us what we have to do."

"You must stop the nursing, and keep the woman here as a dry nurse, in order that she may not go away to carry the disease elsewhere. Do not exaggerate to yourself the danger which will result to the child. I am, in truth, extremely moved by your suffering, and I will do everything--I swear it to you--that your baby may recover as quickly as possible its perfect health. I hope to succeed, and that soon. And now I must leave you until tomorrow."

"Thank you, Doctor, thank you," said Madame Dupont, faintly.

The young man rose and accompanied the doctor to the door. He could not bring himself to speak, but stood hanging his head until the other was gone. Then he came to his mother. He sought to embrace her, but she repelled him--without violence, but firmly.

Her son stepped back and put his hands over his face. "Forgive me!" he said, in a broken voice. "Are we not unhappy enough, without hating each other?"

His mother answered: "G.o.d has punished you for your debauch by striking at your child."

But, grief-stricken as the young man was, he could not believe that.

"Impossible!" he said. "There is not even a man sufficiently wicked or unjust to commit the act which you attribute to your G.o.d!"

"Yes," said his mother, sadly, "you believe in nothing."

"I believe in no such G.o.d as that," he answered.

A silence followed. When it was broken, it was by the entrance of the nurse. She had opened the door of the room and had been standing there for some moments, unheeded. Finally she stepped forward. "Madame," she said, "I have thought it over; I would rather go back to my home at once, and have only the five hundred francs."

Madame Dupont stared at her in consternation. "What is that you are saying? You want to return to your home?"

"Yes, ma'am," was the answer.

"But," cried George, "only ten minutes ago you were not thinking of it."

"What has happened since then?" demanded Madame Dupont.

"I have thought it over."

"Thought it over?"

"Well, I am getting lonesome for my little one and for my husband."

"In the last ten minutes?" exclaimed George.

"There must be something else," his mother added. "Evidently there must be something else."

"No!" insisted the nurse.

"But I say yes!"

"Well, I'm afraid the air of Paris might not be good for me."

"You had better wait and try it."

"I would rather go back at once to my home."

"Come, now," cried Madame Dupont, "tell us why?"