CHAPTER XXXIV
CLOTILDE AS A SURGEON
Was it worse to stay, or to fly? The decision must be instantaneous. ButRaoul made it easy by crying in their common tongue, as he slammed amassive shutter and shot its bolt:
"Go to him! he is down--I heard him fall. Go to him!"
At this rallying cry she seized her shield--that is to say, the littleyellow attendant--and hurried into the room. Joseph lay just beyond themiddle of the apartment, face downward. She found water and a basin, wether own handkerchief, and dropped to her knees beside his head; but themoment he felt the small feminine hands he stood up. She took him bythe arm.
"_Asseyez-vous, Monsieu'_--pliz to give you'sev de pens to seet down,'Sieu' Frowenfel'."
She spoke with a nervous tenderness in contrast with her alarmed andentreating expression of face, and gently pushed him into a chair.
The child ran behind the bed and burst into frightened sobs, but ceasedwhen Clotilde turned for an instant and glared at her.
"Mague yo' 'ead back," said Clotilde, and with tremulous tenderness shesoftly pressed back his brow and began wiping off the blood. "W'ere youis 'urted?"
But while she was asking her question she had found the gash and wasgrowing alarmed at its ugliness, when Raoul, having made everythingfast, came in with:
"Wat's de mattah, 'Sieur Frowenfel'? w'at's de mattah wid you? Oo donedat, 'Sieur Frowen fel'?"
Joseph lifted his head and drew away from it the small hand and wethandkerchief, and without letting go the hand, looked again intoClotilde's eyes, and said:
"Go home; oh, go home!"
"Oh! no," protested Raoul, whereupon Clotilde turned upon him with aperfectly amiable, nurse's grimace for silence.
"I goin' rad now," she said.
Raoul's silence was only momentary.
"Were you lef you' hat, 'Sieur Frowenfel'?" he asked, and stole anartist's glance at Clotilde, while Joseph straightened up, and nervinghimself to a tolerable calmness of speech, said:
"I have been struck with a stick of wood by a half-witted person under amisunderstanding of my intentions; but the circumstances are such as toblacken my character hopelessly; but I am innocent!" he cried,stretching forward both arms and quite losing his momentaryself-control.
"'Sieu' Frowenfel'!" cried Clotilde, tears leaping to her eyes, "I amshoe of it!"
"I believe you! I believe you, 'Sieur Frowenfel'!" exclaimed Raoul withsincerity.
"You will not believe me," said Joseph. "You will not; it will beimpossible."
"_Mais_" cried Clotilde, "id shall nod be impossib'!"
But the apothecary shook his head.
"All I can be suspected of will seem probable; the truth only isincredible."
His head began to sink and a pallor to overspread his face.
"_Allez, Monsieur, allez_," cried Clotilde to Raoul, a picture ofbeautiful terror which he tried afterward to paint from memory,"_appelez_ Doctah Kin!"
Raoul made a dash for his hat, and the next moment she heard, withunpleasant distinctness, his impetuous hand slam the shop door andlock her in.
"_Baille ma do l'eau_" she called to the little mulattress, whoresponded by searching wildly for a cup and presently bringing ameasuring-glass full of water.
Clotilde gave it to the wounded man, and he rose at once and stood onhis feet.
"Raoul."
"'E gone at Doctah Kin."
"I do not need Doctor Keene; I am not badly hurt. Raoul should not haveleft you here in this manner. You must not stay."
"Bud, 'Sieur Frowenfel', I am afred to paz dad gangue!"
A new distress seized Joseph in view of this additional complication.But, unmindful of this suggestion, the fair Creole suddenly exclaimed:
"'Sieu' Frowenfel', you har a hinnocen' man! Go, hopen yo' do's an' stanjuz as you har ub biffo dad crowd and sesso! My God! 'Sieu' Frowenfel',iv you cannod stan' ub by you'sev--"
She ceased suddenly with a wild look, as if another word would havebroken the levees of her eyes, and in that instant Frowenfeld recoveredthe full stature of a man.
"God bless you!" he cried. "I will do it!" He started, then turned againtoward her, dumb for an instant, and said: "And God reward you! Youbelieve in me, and you do not even know me."
Her eyes became wilder still as she looked up into his face with thewords:
"_Mais_, I does know you--betteh'n you know annyt'in' boud it!" andturned away, blushing violently.
Frowenfeld gave a start. She had given him too much light. He recognizedher, and she knew it. For another instant he gazed at her averted face,and then with forced quietness said:
"Please go into the shop."
The whole time that had elapsed since the shutting of the doors had notexceeded five minutes; a sixth sufficed for Clotilde and her attendantto resume their original position in the nook by the private door andfor Frowenfeld to wash his face and hands. Then the alert and numerousears without heard a drawing of bolts at the door next to that whichRaoul had issued, its leaves opened outward, and first the pale handsand then the white, weakened face and still bloody hair and apparel ofthe apothecary made their appearance. He opened a window and anotherdoor. The one locked by Raoul, when unbolted, yielded without a key, andthe shop stood open.
"My friends," said the trembling proprietor, "if any of you wishes tobuy anything, I am ready to serve him. The rest will please move away."
The invitation, though probably understood, was responded to by only afew at the banquette's edge, where a respectable face or two worescrutinizing frowns. The remainder persisted in silently standing andgazing in at the bloody man.
Frowenfeld bore the gaze. There was one element of emphatic satisfactionin it--it drew their observation from Clotilde at the other end of theshop. He stole a glance backward; she was not there. She had watched herchance, safely escaped through the side door, and was gone.
Raoul returned.
"'Sieur Frowenfel', Doctor Keene is took worse ag'in. 'E is in bed; but'e say to tell you in dat lill troubl' of dis mawnin' it is himseff w'atis inti'lie wrong, an' 'e hass you poddon. 'E says sen' fo' DoctorConrotte, but I din go fo' him; dat ole scoun'rel--he believe in puttin'de niggas fre'."
Frowenfeld said he would not consult professional advisers; with alittle assistance from Raoul, he could give the cut the slight attentionit needed. He went back into his room, while Raoul turned back to thedoor and addressed the public.
"Pray, Messieurs, come in and be seated." He spoke in the Creole Frenchof the gutters. "Come in. M. Frowenfeld is dressing, and desires thatyou will have a little patience. Come in. Take chairs. You will not comein? No? Nor you, Monsieur? No? I will set some chairs outside, eh? No?"
They moved by twos and threes away, and Raoul, retiring, gave hisemployer such momentary aid as was required. When Joseph, in changeddress, once more appeared, only a child or two lingered to see him, andhe had nothing to do but sit down and, as far as he felt at liberty todo so, answer his assistant's questions.
During the recital, Raoul was obliged to exercise the severestself-restraint to avoid laughing,--a feeling which was modified by thedesire to assure his employer that he understood this sort of thingperfectly, had run the same risks himself, and thought no less of a man,_providing he was a gentleman_, because of an unlucky retributive knockon the head. But he feared laughter would overclimb speech; and, indeed,with all expression of sympathy stifled, he did not succeed socompletely in hiding the conflicting emotion but that Joseph did onceturn his pale, grave face surprisedly, hearing a snuffling sound,suddenly stifled in a drawer of corks. Said Raoul, with an unsteadyutterance, as he slammed the drawer:
"H-h-dat makes me dat I can't 'elp to laugh w'en I t'ink of dat foolyesse'dy w'at want to buy my pigshoe for honly one 'undred dolla'--ha,ha ha, ha!"
He laughed almost indecorously.
"Raoul," said Frowenfeld, rising and closing his eyes, "I am going backfor my hat. It would make matters worse for that person to send it tome, and it would be
something like a vindication for me to go back tothe house and get it."
Mr. Innerarity was about to make strenuous objection, when there came inone whom he recognized as an attache of his cousin Honore'scounting-room, and handed the apothecary a note. It contained Honore'srequest that if Frowenfeld was in his shop he would have the goodness towait there until the writer could call and see him.
"I will wait," was the reply.