This was the fourteenth night after the beginning of his fever and a crisis in the disease. So for twenty-four hours she did not have one-half hour of uninterrupted sleep. It was not because the young man needed her constant care, for indeed he was never conscious of her existence. When he called it was always to ask for some one else, and yet it was always Eugenia who answered. Then for a little while at least the patient would seem to be satisfied.
But if at their first accidental meeting in Paris the four American Red Cross girls had considered Captain Castaigne absurdly young for his captain’s commission, what must they have thought of him now? To Eugenia he appeared like a boy of sixteen.
[228]
It is true that he had a tiny dark moustache, but except for this his face remained smooth. Then his nurse had been compelled to cut off all his dark hair in order to cool his head, and his slender body had become wasted and his eyes sunken. Indeed, the features, which Eugenia had once considered too perfect for a man’s, now frequently made her think of a delicate cameo, when he lay with his face in profile against the pure white of his pillow.
Watching him on this night, which she feared might be his last, Eugenia felt unusually moved.
After all, he must have been a brave and capable fellow to have received his present rank in the French army while still so young. Moreover, there was a possibility that Captain Castaigne had more force of character than she had ever given him credit for. Had he not rebelled against his mother’s ideas of rank and dignity, and in spite of his devotion to her refused to keep his title in a country which was now a republic? Of course, Eugenia could not believe that the young man really had the true democratic[229] spirit in which she so thoroughly1 trusted. Still there was a chance that he might not be so futile2 a character as she had first supposed.
Leaning over to wipe her patient’s face with a damp cloth, Eugenia made up her mind to one thing. If Captain Castaigne died she would go at once to the German colonel in command of the French village and confess what she had done. Of necessity she must be punished for her falsehood and treachery, but surely she would be permitted to send for the Countess Amélie at the last. The young French officer could be of no interest to his enemies after his death.
But where the Countess could be hiding, nor whom she could find to send for her, Eugenia had not the faintest idea. For these past two weeks she had been so entirely3 shut away from the outside world. Except for her one visit to the German colonel she had never left the little “House with the Blue Front Door” since the night she first brought her patient into it. Nor had Eugenia received a single line from[230] any one of the other three Red Cross girls to afford her the faintest idea of what could have become of them. But she did not worry so much as she might have done at a time when she was less occupied. Besides, naturally she believed that the three girls were with the French field hospital at some point back of the line of the French army’s retreat.
Toward dawn Eugenia knew that the hour of greatest danger to her patient would arrive. For it is an acknowledged scientific fact that life is at its lowest ebb4 with the rising and the setting of the sun.
Therefore, just before this time Eugenia left her patient’s bedside and went into the room adjoining, which she used for her own needs. There she washed her face and hands in cold water and, letting down her heavy hair, plaited it in two braids. She was very tired and yet must prepare herself to meet the coming hour with all the strength and wisdom she could muster5.
Even as she made her toilet she was aware of the feverish6 muttering of the young officer. His stupor7 had passed[231] several days before, but since his nurse could not decide whether his weak restlessness and almost incessant8 crying out were not worse symptoms. Certainly they were more trying upon her nerves.
“Ma mère, ma mère,” he was repeating his mother’s name over and over again, as if he must see her again before his spirit could leave his body.
Eugenia slipped back and for the hundredth time laid her hand gently on the young fellow’s brow. Somehow he must be quieted, comforted into thinking his mother near him. Then if he never returned to consciousness he would pass out of the world’s alarms with a sense of her presence.
Do you recall that Barbara Meade had discovered a wonderful, healing quality in the touch of Eugenia’s hands? It is true that a few people have this vital, health-giving quality in their hands, which is not true of others.
Anyhow, Eugenia’s patient grew quieter, although he still murmured a broken word now and then. He was strangely pathetic,[232] because, however much he might move his arms and the upper part of his body, his legs remained lifeless. For now and then when he had endeavored to change his position the pain had been so great as to pierce through his stupor.
“Mon fils, mon fils,” Eugenia whispered several times. It was all the French she dared permit herself to speak, and yet the simple words “my son,” even spoken by a New England old maid, carried their magic.
Yet Eugenia was looking little like an old maid as she leaned over the French boy—and he was scarcely more than a boy. She wore the violet wrapper, and as she kneeled her long dark braids of hair lay upon the floor. She too had grown thin and white from her two weeks’ vigil of nursing, cooking, taking entire charge of her patient, herself and the little house. Nevertheless, Eugenia’s face had for some reason softened9, perhaps because she was too weary and too selfless in her devotion to her patient to feel superior to any earthly thing. At this moment her eyes were both sad and hopeful, while her lashes10 looked[233] longer and darker than usual against the pallor of her cheeks.
Finally Captain Castaigne moved away from the soft pressure of his nurse’s hands. As he moved with more strength than Eugenia believed him to possess, for the next instant she watched him even more closely.
He was muttering a number of confused phrases, now and then what sounded like a command to his soldiers. Then all at once he stopped and laughed a little foolishly.
“Eugenia Peabody,” he pronounced the words distinctly, although with a French accent which made the name more attractive than it ever had before. “Eugenié Paybodé” was the way it sounded to its possessor.
Eugenia stared more closely. Could Captain Castaigne know her once again? Since the first night after his injury he never seemed to have been aware of her identity.
A further glance into his eyes showed this was not true. There was no sign of intelligence there, only vagueness and a confused groping in the dark.
[234]
“Mademoiselle Paybodé, she is what you call in English ‘an old maid.’”
Then the young officer laughed boyishly, as if he and a friend had been discussing a new acquaintance and found the subject amusing.
Eugenia flushed. It was absurd, but for the moment she felt hurt and angry. Few of us like to be the subject of a joke and Eugenia was not gifted with much sense of humor. But a little later she had the grace to be ashamed of herself. However she might dislike the young Frenchman whom she had been nursing so faithfully, she must remember that he had unfailing good manners. Their one unfortunate meeting had been due to a mistake on his part. Afterwards he had done all that he could to make amends11. Certainly he would be the last person to be rude to her under the present circumstances if he had known what he was saying! Moreover, the minute after he continued talking at random12 upon subjects which had no possible connection.
Soon after, glancing at her watch, Eugenia[235] got up and crossed the room. The next instant she returned in order to take her patient’s temperature. His fever was not so high, but then his pulse and heart seemed to be growing dangerously weaker. Giving him the necessary stimulant13, she again stood by his bedside, watching and waiting.
Captain Castaigne was no longer talking in his delirium14. He had grown quieter and was staring, yet with an unseeing expression, at the ceiling overhead. At this moment Eugenia discovered that the dawn had come at last. A shaft15 of yellow light had entered the high window and shone across the wounded officer’s face. It gave him such a curiously16 transfigured look that for an instant Eugenia was frightened. But the next, realizing what had occurred, she walked across to the window and stood looking out at the country.
The morning wind blew across her face. The dawn was a cold December one and yet the air was grateful. A little later Duke came and thrust his great head into Eugenia’s hand. Until this moment he had[236] not left his place by his master’s bedside since twilight17 the day before. But now he too seemed to feel that there was nothing more love or vigilance could do. One must simply wait.
The landscape was particularly lovely this morning, Eugenia thought. A white frost lay upon the meadows and trees like a veil, and one could not see the devastation18 that the recent fighting must have brought upon the countryside. Eugenia had the right to feel rather like a prisoner, and yet she was not at this time conscious of herself. She was wondering how the Countess Amélie could live when she learned that her only son had fallen a victim to the enemy who had despoiled19 her land and captured her home. She was an old woman and this would be too full a measure of sorrow.
How long Eugenia stood at the window she did not know. It could scarcely have been more than a few moments, yet when she turned around she was not aware of what had influenced her. Perhaps it was Duke’s desertion, for once more he had marched over to his master’s side. Here,[237] he stood sentinel with his eyes fixed20 on the young captain’s face. He no longer crouched21 upon the floor as he had been doing for the past twelve hours.
Straightway Eugenia experienced a sudden rushing of warm blood to her own cheeks and a flooding sense of happiness and warmth.
For Captain Castaigne was looking at her gravely, yet with entire recognition.
“I have come back to fight once more for France because of you,” he whispered. Then, in spite of his exhaustion22, he tried gallantly23 to lift Eugenia’s fingers to his lips. But finding himself too weak, he simply lay still and smiled at her.
Utterly24 ridiculous in a self-possessed person like Eugenia! But because she felt a sudden overpowering inclination25 to burst into tears of relief at her patient’s safety, she frowned upon him sternly instead.
“You are not to stir or speak until I return,” she announced severely26, and then deliberately27 left the room. Of course, she intended to get some simple nourishment28 for the young officer at once, but this was[238] not the important reason for her withdrawal29. Certainly Eugenia did not so far intend to forget her dignity as a nurse as to show emotion!
At about noon on the same day Eugenia was cheerfully working downstairs in the little French kitchen, while Captain Castaigne was sleeping quietly upstairs with the door open so that she could hear his faintest move.
For the kitchen had to be seriously considered. The supply of food necessary for an invalid30 was growing dangerously low in their larder31, and for the next few weeks the wounded soldier must have proper nutriment. After an hour’s investigation32 Eugenia decided33 that she must go to the village and see what could be done. It would be difficult to leave her patient alone, but his life was no longer in danger. Time would bring healing, if nothing of an unexpected nature occurred.
Then Eugenia heard a gentle tapping at her kitchen door. It was much the same noise that Fran?ois had been accustomed to make on his daily visits with supplies from[239] the chateau34. For a moment Eugenia hoped that Fran?ois might have come unexpectedly to their aid. But on opening the door, she found a wholly unexpected visitor.
A young girl of about sixteen stood outside. At first Eugenia did not recognize her. Then she saw that she wore a torn skirt and a little scarlet35 cap and that she was singularly pretty and graceful36.
Like a flash a picture came before her; it was the figure of a little girl dancing before a group of French soldiers. What was the name Barbara had afterwards called her, the name of some character in an old French romance?
“Nicolete,” Eugenia said suddenly. And drawing the girl inside the little kitchen, she carefully closed the outside door.
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1
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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10
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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devastation
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| n.毁坏；荒废；极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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32
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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35
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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