The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 6Sue, Eugène
General
The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 6
Sue, Eugène
Paris (France) -- Fiction
"I can understand those regrets, madame, for it is impossible to see
Fleur-de-Marie without being charmed with her grace and sweetness. The
woman who saved her, and has since watched her night and day as she
would an infant, is a courageous and devoted person, but of a
disposition so excitable that she has been called La Louve."
"I know La Louve," said the marquise, smiling as she thought of the
pleasure she had in store for the prince. What would have been her
ecstasy, had she known she was the daughter he believed dead that she
was about to restore to Rodolph! Then, addressing the nun who had given
some spoonfuls of a draught to Mlle. de Fermont, she said, "Well,
sister, is she recovering?"
"Not yet, madame, she is so weak. Poor, young thing! One can scarcely
feel her pulse beat."
"I will wait, then, until she is sufficiently restored to be put into my
carriage; but tell me, sister, amongst these unfortunate patients, do
you know any who particularly deserve interest and pity, and to whom I
could be useful before I leave the hospital?"
"Ah, madame, Heaven has sent you here!" said the sister. "There," and
she pointed to the bed of Pique-Vinaigre's sister, "is a poor woman much
to be pitied, and very bad; she only came in when quite exhausted, and
is past all comfort, because she has been obliged to abandon her two
small children, who have no other support in the world. She said just
now to the doctor that she must go out, cured or not, in a week, because
her neighbours had promised to take care of her children for that time
only and no longer."
"Take me to her bed, I beg of you, sister," said Madame d'Harville,
rising and following the nun.
Jeanne Duport, who had scarcely recovered from the violent shock which
the investigations of Doctor Griffon had caused her, had not remarked
the entrance of Madame d'Harville; what, then, was her astonishment,
when the marquise, lifting up the curtains of her bed, and looking at
her with great pity and kindness, said:
"My good woman, do not be uneasy about your children, I will take care
of them; so only think of getting well, that you may go to them."
Poor Jeanne thought she was in a dream, she could only clasp her hands
in speechless gratitude, and gaze on her unknown benefactress.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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