The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence Part 56

"So long as there is a spark of life left in me, I will defend my right to my child. As to him, you know the firmness of his character. Never will he be willing to leave me or forsake M. David and enter the house of M. Bridou. M. Bastien will soon return, and he is going to claim the right to take away my son."

Marie, overcome by the emotion she was trying to combat, was obliged to pause a moment, and was attacked by such a dangerous fit of coughing, united to such a painful oppression in the chest, that the doctor involuntarily raised his eyes to Heaven with grief. After taking a drink prepared by the doctor, Marie continued:

"Such is our position, my dear doctor, and before the return of M.

Bastien, we must resolve upon something decisive, or--" and Marie became deathly pale--"or something terrible will happen here, for you know how violent M. Bastien is, and how resolute Frederick is; and as to me, I feel that, sick as I am, to take away my son is to strike me with death."

"Madame, the moments are precious; permit me first to appeal to your sincerity and frankness."

"Speak."

"Yesterday evening, at the conclusion of the discussion which you had with your husband, a most atrocious thing occurred, and that night--"

"Monsieur."

"I know all, madame."

"Once more, doctor--"

"I know all, I tell you, and, with your habitual courage, you did, I am certain of it, submit to this abominable treatment, in order not to make public this outrageous deed, and to avoid a collision between your son and your husband. Oh, do not try to deny it; your safety and the safety of your son depend upon the sincerity of your confession."

"My safety! my son's safety!"

"Come, madame, do you think the law has no redress for such atrocities as those your husband has been guilty of toward you? No, no! and there are witnesses of his unreasonable brutality. And these witnesses, Marguerite and myself, to whom you have applied for medical attention, as a consequence of the injuries you have sustained, we, I say, will authorise and justify your demand for separation. This demand must be formulated to-day."

"A separation!" cried Marie, clasping her hands in a transport of joy, "will it be possible?"

"Yes, and you will obtain it; trust yourself to me, madame. I will see your judges, I will establish your rights, your illness, your grievances; but before formulating this demand," added the doctor, with hesitation, for he appreciated the delicacy of the question raised, "it is essential for David to go away."

At these words, Marie trembled with surprise and distress; with her eyes fixed on those of Doctor Dufour, she tried to divine his thought, unable to comprehend why he, David's best friend, should insist upon his going away.

"Separate us from M. David," said she finally, "at the time my son has so much need of his care?"

"Madame, believe me, the departure of David is essential. David himself realises it, because he has resolved to go."

"M. David!"

"I have his word."

"It is impossible!"

"I have his word, madame."

"He! he! abandon us at such a time!"

"In order to save you and your son."

"In order to save us?"

"His presence near you, madame, would compromise the success of your demand for a separation."

"Why is that?"

There was so much candour and sincerity in Marie's question, she revealed so thoroughly the innocence of her heart, that the doctor had not the heart to give a new pain to this angelic creature by telling her of the odious reports being circulated about herself and David, so he replied:

"You cannot doubt, madame, the devotion and affection of David. He knows all that is to be regretted in his departure, all that is most painful to Frederick, but he knows also that his departure is absolutely necessary."

"He, depart!"

At the heartrending tone with which Marie uttered the two words, "He, depart," the doctor realised the depth of Marie's love for David for the first time, and as he thought of this deep and pure affection, the outcome of the n.o.blest sentiments and the holiest feelings, his heart sank. He knew well Marie's virtue and David's delicacy, and hence he saw no end to this fatal pa.s.sion.

Marie, after weeping silently turned her pale, sad, and tear-stained face to the doctor, and said to him, sorrowfully:

"M. David thinks it is best to go away, and my son and I will resign ourselves to it. Your friend has given too many proofs of his devotion to permit us to question his heart for a moment, but I must tell you his departure will be a terrible blow to my son."

"But you will remain with him, madame, for I do not doubt that once your separation is obtained, you will be allowed to keep your son."

"You hope then they will leave me my son?"

"Without doubt."

"How," replied Marie, clasping her hands and looking at the doctor with inexpressible anguish, "could there be a doubt that they will leave me my son?"

"He is more than sixteen years old, and in a case of separation, the son follows the father; a daughter would be given to you."

"But, then," replied Marie, all excited with fear, "what good is this separation, if I am not sure of keeping my son?"

"First, to a.s.sure your peace, your life perhaps, because your husband--"

"But my son, my son?"

"We will do everything in the world to have him given to you."

"And if they do not give him to me?"

"Alas! madame."

"Let us think no more of this separation, Doctor Dufour."

"Think, then, madame, what it is to remain at the mercy of a wretch who will kill you some day."

"But at least, before that happens, he will not have taken my son away from me."

"He will take him away from you, madame. Did he not wish to do so yesterday?"

"Oh, my G.o.d!" cried Marie, falling back on her pillow with such an expression of grief and despair that the doctor ran to her, exclaiming:

"In the name of Heaven, what is the matter with you?"

"Doctor Dufour," said Marie, in a feeble voice, closing her eyes and overcome by grief, "I am utterly exhausted. No matter which way I look at the future, it is horrible; what shall I do, my G.o.d! what shall I do?