And in a fever of anxiety she looked at the child whose breathing grew more and more difficult.

  “They have not been gone ten minutes, madame,” said one of the maids, “and it takes quite two hours to go to Neckarsteinach and back, galloping the whole way»

  “Two hours,” cried Christiane in despair, “why, it is an eternity. Oh! what a cruel and stupid thing is distance! Not a doctor in Landeck! Why did we come and bury ourselves here? Ah! the pastor No, he knows nothing, nothing but how to pray. Well! that’s always something. Let someone go and tell him to pray. Quick, send to him. And I too, in waiting for the doctor, I will try to pray.”

  She threw herself on her knees, made the sign of the cross and cried:

  “Oh God! oh God!”

  Suddenly she rose. An idea had just crossed her mind.

  “Yes,” she said. “Gretchen! She understands plants and herbs. Let some one go for her. No, she would not come, I will go myself. You others, look after my child.”

  And with nothing over her head or shoulders, she flew down the staircase, rushed through the courtyards, climbed the rocks, and in a moment had reached the door of the hut.

  “Gretchen! Gretchen!” she cried.

  No answer.

  “Now then! it is not a question today of your pretending; to be either wild or mad. My child is dying, do you hear? That is more serious than anything. Gretchen, in the name of your mother, my child is dying. Help! help!”

  “I am coming,” replied Gretchen’s voice.

  A moment later, the door opened and Gretchen appeared on the threshold, gloomy and dejected.

  “What do you want with me?” she said.

  “Gretchen,” Christiane replied, “my poor little Wilhelm, you know him? well! he is dying. You alone can save him. They say he has the croup. Do you know what it is? Have you any remedies for that? Yes, have you not? For if you had no remedies for the croup, of what use would your knowledge of herbs be?”

  Gretchen smiled a bitter smile.

  “Herbs? Of what use, indeed, is my knowledge of them? I believe in them no longer. They are all poisonous.”

  “Oh! come,” said Christiane imploringly.

  “Of what use? “Gretchen replied, without moving; “I tell you that the flowers have played me false.”

  “Gretchen, my dear Gretchen, summon up your devotion, your courage, your reason. In fact, what harm can it do you to try.”

  “You wish it?” said Gretchen; “very well, I will take some plants which my mother used to say were good for children’s ailments. But my mother was mistaken. The plants have something else to do than to save children; they have to ruin women.”

  “I believe in the plants,” said Christiane. “Be quick, take those you speak of, and hasten to the castle. Do not be long, my dear little one. I am going back to Wilhelm. I rely upon you.”

  She rushed away and returned to the cot. The child seemed slightly better. The pulse was quieter.

  “Saved!” cried Christiane. “It was nothing; it was not the croup. Thank God!”

  Gretchen entered at this moment.

  “There is no need now,” said Christiane.

  “Wilhelm is quite well again.”

  “I think not,” said Gretchen.

  “You think not. Why?”

  “I have thought it over in coming along,” Gretchen replied, in a solemn and convincing tone.

  “The diseases which affect us now are not natural. They come from a man who bears us both a grudge. They last as long as he likes. He is the only one who can cure the invalid.”

  Christiane started.

  “Are you speaking of Samuel?”

  “Yes,” said Gretchen. “And look now.” She pointed to Wilhelm, whose face was again contracted with pain and his breathing laboured. The child’s skin was dry, wrinkled and burning; his little limbs were growing rigid.

  “Your herbs? Gretchen! your herbs!” cried Christiane, falling forward in her despair.

  Gretchen shook her head with a dubious air. But, to satisfy the mother, she applied her ‘herbs on the neck and on the breast of the child.

  “Let us wait and see,” she said. “But, I tell you again, it will have no effect.”

  Christiane waited, watching the effect of the plants on Wilhelm, trembling, breathless.

  The same terrible symptoms continued.

  “I warned you before,” said Gretchen, shaking her head. “There is only one man who can save him.”

  “You are right!” exclaimed Christiane.

  And she ran into the adjoining boudoir.

  CHAPTER LXI.

  THE CROUP.

  GRETCHEN followed Christiane mechanically, not knowing what possessed her. She saw her place her finger on a projecting part of one of the wood panels.

  “Madame, what are you doing?”

  “I am calling him.”

  “Whom?”

  “Why! the man who is able to save my child?”

  “You are calling Samuel Gelb? “Gretchen faltered.

  “Good Heavens! do you suppose I am going to let Wilhelm die?”

  “He! but he is not the doctor, he is the executioner. Madame, you are invoking the devil.”

  “Well! have I not invoked God in vain! Ah! there is only one thing I am afraid of, and that is Wilhelm’s illness. Everything sinks into nothingness beside the thought that Wilhelm may be dying. Oh! my God! if he were to be absent again? I would give my life for him to come quickly.”

  And she pressed on the spring with all her might.

  “He will hear me this time,” she said; “he is here, he will come in a moment Let us go back to Wilhelm.”

  She returned to her room with Gretchen.

  “What is the time?” she asked the nurse.

  “It must certainly be two hours since those men left.”

  “Alas! madame “said the nurse, “it is not yet half-an-hour ago.”

  There was no improvement in the child’s condition.

  Christiane ran back to the boudoir, rang a third time, then returned to the cradle.

  Each second seemed to her an eternity. She could not keep still. Her blood boiled in her veins. She knelt beside the cot, then, rising, walked up and down the room, nervous, dishevelled, haggard, mistaking each sound for Samuel.

  “Will he let my child die?” she said with numb despair.

  She went back to the boudoir, and was again about to press the spring when the panel revolved sharply.

  Samuel appeared.

  At any other time, his appearance alone would have alarmed Christiane. With tightly compressed lips and unflinching gaze, he stood before her, grave, pale, cold, and as if armed with an inflexible resolve. It was no longer a reasoning being, it was no longer a heart, it was a will, a will rigid, inflexible, of iron, fatal, terrible and deadly, But Christiane did not even glance at him. She flung herself at his feet.

  “My child is dying, sir! save him,” she cried.

  “Ah!” said Samuel, “so it is not a trap.”

  “Oh! “Christiane replied, “there is no question of that! I crave your mercy. You are great, you will be kind. Forgive me the past. I was wrong. I kneel to you, I bless you. Come quickly. Save my little one!”

  And she took his hand and drew him into the room.

  “Look at him!” she said, “he is very ill, but you are so clever.”

  Samuel stooped over the cradle. But one glance was enough.

  “That child has the croup,” he said coldly.

  “The croup! Ah! it is the croup!” exclaimed Christiane. “You, who know everything, tell me what must be done.”

  Samuel remained silent a moment, seemed to reflect, looked at Christiane who, breathless, waited, watched, for his first word, his first gesture.

  “To begin with,” he said slowly, “this room is too crowded. Every one must leave it.”

  “Leave the room, all of you,” Christiane commanded.

  The maids and the nurse obeyed.

  On looking round to see if any one remained, Samuel perceived Gretchen crouching down in a corner trembling, scared, terrified at seeing Samuel, and unable to remove her eyes from him.

  “Must she go out too? “Christiane asked.

  She above all,” said Samuel.

  “Go, Gretchen,” Christiane ordered.

  Without speaking a word, Gretchen retreated towards the door, her eyes still fixed on Samuel, as if to guard against some attack, a frown contracting her brow, fierce and menacing.

  When she was almost out of the room:

  “Madame! look to yourself!” she cried.

  And hurriedly closing the door, she fled. Samuel and Christiane remained alone beside the cot.

  CHAPTER LXII.

  A MOTHER’S TEMPTATION.

  “NOW then, sir, we are alone,” Christiane said impatiently to Samuel. “Sir, what in the world are you thinking about? “For Samuel seemed absent-minded and absorbed in deep thought.

  Most strange indeed! who could guess of what, at this supreme moment, Samuel was in reality thinking? Of an engraving of Albert Durer’s, celebrated in Germany, and entitled “The Violater.” This picture represents the mysterious, grotesque figure of a man half-naked, hairy, muscular, who is drawing on to his knees a resisting and desperate woman, but he draws her with a force so powerful and so invincible, with a determination so unconcerned and so heedless, that at sight of the crime which seems to mingle murder with love, the impression of terror effaces all idea of voluptuousness, and that beneath the sinister symbol one imagines everything that is most cruel and pitiless in the world: Terror, Fatality, Death.

  Yet this horrible picture was the subject of Samuel’s thoughts beside the dying child’s cradle, and Christiane was obliged to repeat:

  “What are you thinking about, sir? Speak, act, in Heaven’s name! I place my child in your hands. This terrible malady is not fatal, is it?”

  “It can be cured, Madame,” Samuel answered at last in a deep voice, “it can be cured, if taken in time.”

  “Oh! this attack is taken in time!” exclaimed Christiane. “It is not half-an-hour since the first symptoms broke out.”

  “There is yet time, Madame, it is true. But you have been wise not to delay. In half-an-hour it would have been too late.”

  “Well! why do you not begin at once.”

  “I am waiting — waiting for a word from you.”

  “A word from me? What word?”

  Samuel was visibly agitated. No one but a mother anxious for her child would have failed to notice the ardent passionate look which flashed into his hitherto cold, scornful eyes, as he glanced round Christiane’s room, which, at this hour, inspired thoughts of the mysteries which must have happened at times such as this, and at lovely Christiane with loosened hair, shoulders half-bare, eyes shining with emotion, whose woman’s beauty was enhanced by her mother love.

  “Listen, Madame,” rejoined Samuel, as if making an unalterable decision.

  You have, up to the present, set me at defiance, scorned me, worsted me. Now it is my turn. The seconds are numbered. I have not time to be other than brutal. You ask me for the life, the whole life of your child. Very well, I will give it you. But, in exchange, you will give me ten minutes of yours.”

  Christiane looked at him, without understanding.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I say that I propose an exchange,” Samuel went on. “It lies with me to give you the being who is dearest to you in the whole world. You ask me to do that. It lies with you to give me the being who is dearest to me in the whole world; I ask that of you. And I repeat that I will give you a life and that you will give me ten minutes only. That is not yet plain enough? In a word, you love your child, and I — I love you!”

  Christiane understood, for she gave a cry of horror.”

  “Ah! you understand at last?” said Samuel. “That is very fortunate!”

  “Villain!” cried the young woman indignant, “such words! and at such a time!”

  “I await your answer, and not insults,” was Samuel’s rejoinder.

  “Not another word, wretch!” said Christiane, “for it seems to me that God will take my child from me that his innocence may not be witness of so gross an insult to his mother.”

  “Madame,” Samuel rejoined, “since I have said that, you may be certain that I will not go from what I have said. Time is flying, and it is Wilhelm’s life that you are wasting in words. My decision is irrevocable. I love you more than I myself imagined. While you hesitate the croup hesitates not. In five and twenty minutes it will be too late. Beware that you do not give yourself lifelong remorse through a mere scruple. I swear to you that you have to choose between two things alone: Give your child to the grave or yourself to me.”

  “Is it some bad dream? “Christiane said aloud to herself, “but no, I feel that it is only too true. Listen, sir,” she continued entreatingly, “you are a sensible man. How is it possible for me to give myself as you suggest? Would you want me under such conditions? No, you have too much respect for me. You would scorn such a moral violation. There is nothing to wound you in what I have said. Even supposing that I loved you, how could I be yours when I belong to another. And to whom! Good God! remember to whom.”

  “Do not rouse the evil passions of Cain, Madame,” muttered Samuel, resuming his threatening tone.

  “Do you want my fortune? my whole fortune? Say but a word and it is yours. This is no empty phrase. Before God, before my father and mother who are in Heaven, I will get Julius. I do not know how, but I swear that I will succeed in getting him to share his fortune with you, or, if you will, he will give you the whole of it. All that we possess, take it, I implore you.”

  “I thank you, Madame, for providing me with an opportunity of ennobling my offence. I want of you only yourself.”

  The child was seized with a fresh paroxysm.

  “Well!” the unhappy mother attempted again, “since it is me that you want, save my child, and perhaps then I shall love you, because you will have been generous and noble. I cannot give myself to you without loving you; make me love you.”

  “Time is passing,” Samuel remarked.

  “But after all,” Christiane cried, “you are a doctor and it is your duty to succour and save those who are suffering and dying. If you refuse you will be punished.”

  “I am not a doctor, Madame, and only if I perform a cure am I liable to incur punishment.”

  Christiane said nothing for a few seconds, turning over in her mind what she ought to say and do, in face of this determined obstinacy.

  “Sir, I implore you, on my knees, with clasped hands, will you not yield to my entreaties? Sir, if you love me as you say you do, you will not convince me of your love by murdering my child.”

  “Your child, Madame!... It was through your child you insulted me.”

  “Sir, yet once again, have mercy. Yet once again I beseech you, I entreat you, on my knees!”

  “Madame, try to stop the hands of that clock,” said Samuel.

  Christiane stood up.

  “Ah! it is infamous,” said the poor woman, wringing her hands. “Well! I will do without you. The doctors will arrive in time. You lie when you say that in half-an-hour it will be too late.”

  “It was half-an-hour ten minutes ago,”

  Samuel interrupted. “Now it is only twenty minutes.”

  “You lie!” she burst out. “You say that to frighten me. But I do not believe you; go away. You are a scoundrel. And if I were mad enough to give myself up, who is to tell me that you would save my child afterwards? Would it even be in your power to do so? You are not a doctor, you have admitted as much. The real doctors will be here soon. They will save Wilhelm. I have no need of you. You will lose for the shame of your infamous proposal. And I will have you punished. I will bring you to justice for what you have done to Gretchen. Get you gone.” Samuel turned to go.

  “I am going,” said he. “I came again, because you called me again; yesterday, it was to deliver me up to your father; today, so fate decreed, it has been for you to deliver yourself up to me. But you tell me to go, and I obey.”

  He looked at the clock in passing.

  “Twelve minutes have slipped away,” said he. The child gave a sort of plaintive, heart-breaking groan.

  “Sir, do you hear him?” cried Christiane with a despairing sob. “Ah! such a cry would touch even a wild beast.”

  Samuel stooped over the cradle.

  “In another quarter-of-an-hour,” he said, “I shall be able to do nothing. At this moment I can answer unhesitatingly for Wilhelm’s life. It is you who are without pity, madame. Yes or no? No? I am going. Wait for your doctors. They will find a corpse.”

  He walked towards the door.

  Christiane hesitated for one terrible moment.

  “Sir,” she said.

  Samuel turned, quivering.

  “Sir! sir! have you carefully considered what an atrocious thing you are about to do?”

  “What waste of words and time!” said Samuel.

  “No! I cannot!” sobbed Christiane.

  “Then, farewell.”

  And he took three firm strides.

  “Look,” she resumed in a low voice, “since you place a mother between the monstrous alternative of killing her honour or her child; well! save Wilhelm, and — I swear that I will be yours.”

  “No,” said Samuel, “such bargains are concluded on the nail. I will save him after.”

  “Then, no,” said she. “Rather must my child die.”

  Already Samuel was opening the secret door; she rushed after him terror-stricken.

  “Another offer,” said she. “What do you want? To be revenged on me. You do not love me, you hate me. Well, you can punish me in another way, and your pride will be just as well satisfied. I will kill myself there, under your very eyes, and my boy will live. I tell you of it instead of doing it, because once dead you would be capable of allowing my child to die just the same.”

  “Indeed,” said Samuel. “And I refuse your proposal.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35