The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 2, July 1894
General
The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 2, July 1894
English literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Great Britain -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
"Ah, bah, our people, as you know, ma'am, dey don't like no strangers,
specially no Englishmen. He was very glad when Mr. Renouf sent for
him.... 'Twas through Margot there. She got took bad one Saturday
coming back from market from de heat or de squidge" (crowd), "and
Doctor Owen he overtook her on the road in his gig, and druv her home.
Den de master, he must have a talk with him, and so de next time he
fancy hisself ill, he send for Doctor Owen, and since den he don't
care for Dr. Lelever no more at all."
"I ought to be getting off," remarked Mrs. Poidevin, remembering the
hour at which the omnibus left Vauvert; "had I better go up and bid
cousin Louis good-bye?"
Mrs. Tourtel thought Margot should go and ask the Doctor's opinion
first, but as Margot had already vanished, she went herself.
There was a longish pause, during which Mrs. Poidevin looked uneasily
at Tourtel; he with restless furtive eyes at her. Then the housekeeper
reappeared, noiseless, cool, determined as ever.
"Mr. Rennuf is quiet now," she said; "de Doctor have given him a
soothing draught, and will stay to see how it acts. He tinks you'd
better slip quietly away."
On this, Louisa Poidevin left Les Calais; but in spite of her easy
superficiality, her unreasoning optimism, she took with her a sense of
oppression. Cousin Louis's appeal rang in her ears: "Do not leave me;
stay with me, or take me back with you. I am afraid up here, quite
alone." And after all, though his fears were but the folly of old age,
why, she asked herself, should he not come and stay with them in town
if he wished to do so? She resolved to talk it over with Pedvinn; she
thought she would arrange for him the little west room, being the
furthest from the nurseries; and in planning out such vastly important
trifles as to which easy-chair and which bedroom candlestick she would
devote to his use, she forgot the old man himself and recovered her
usual stolid jocundity.
When Owen had entered the bedroom, he had found Renouf standing over
an open portmanteau, into which he was placing hurriedly whatever
caught his eye or took his fancy, from the surrounding tables. His
hand trembled from eagerness, his pale old face was flushed with
excitement and hope. Owen, going straight up to him, put his two hands
on his shoulders, and without uttering a word, gently forced him
backwards into a chair. Then he sat down in front of him, so close
that their knees touched, and fixing his strong eyes on Renouf's
wavering ones, and stroking with his finger-tips the muscles behind
the ears, he threw him immediately into an hypnotic trance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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