Part 11 (1/2)
The Doctor gazed at her compa.s.sionately before answering:
”That is impossible. To release you from this place requires a far greater power than mine.”
”This place?” asked the young girl in surprise. ”Why, what is it? Is it not a hospital?”
”A hospital and a prison,” replied the physician gravely.
”A prison!” exclaimed Henriette in terror, striving to remember how she came to be in such a place.
At last the events that preceded her illness gradually came back to her mind, until she understood all.
”Ah, I remember,” she said at length. ”Yes, I remember the soldiers who dragged me here, and him who commanded.... And Maurice--was he too condemned? Alas, poor Louise--my last sight of her showed her in the power of vile, unscrupulous wretches! Oh, dear G.o.d, what have I done to be crushed like this!”
She dropped, weeping and wailing, to the floor.
”Sister,” said the Doctor, turning away to hide his tears, ”this is not a case for my care. You must be the physician here.”
”I know virtue and innocence when I see it, surely this child has done nothing worthy of a term at Salpetriere!” replied the kind Genevieve softly, lifting up the stricken girl and embracing her.
”Come, dear, you must rest yet a little longer in order to acquire the full strength so as to be able to tell me everything. a.s.suredly we will help you!”
In the course of convalescence Henriette told her complete story to Sister Genevieve. The narrative included the girls' journey to Paris, her kidnapping and rescue, the disappearance of Louise, de Vaudrey's suit and the objections of his family, the recognition of her sister as the Countess's long-lost daughter, Louise's recapture by the beggars, and the peremptory act of the Police Prefect whereby mother and daughter, and beloved foster-sisters, were cruelly parted, and Henriette branded with the mark of the fallen woman by incarceration in La Salpetriere.
Sister Genevieve was strangely moved by it, as was the Doctor to whom she repeated it.
”Against the will of the Police Prefect we can do nothing!” said the Doctor, soberly. ”If only his wrath has cooled, we may possibly get her term shortened--”
”What monstrous wickedness!” interrupted the Sister, ordinarily mild and loyal, but worked up to near-democracy by these and other injustices. ”To imprison a pure girl--her only offence a n.o.bleman's honorable suit and her own ceaseless search for her blind sister, lost in the streets of Paris!”
”This girl Henriette was her blind sister's sole support,” suggested a nurse.
”I had found her--Louise--at the moment when they arrested me,”
exclaimed Henriette sorrowfully. ”I heard her voice. I saw her. She was covered with rags. Her beautiful golden hair fell in disorder on her shoulders. She was being dragged along by a horrible old woman, who I know ill-treats her--beats her, perhaps, and they would not let me go to her. Now I have lost her forever--forever!”
”Wait a minute, my child,” exclaimed the physician, as a sudden thought flashed over him. ”I believe I have met that very same girl.”
”You, monsieur?” exclaimed Henriette in surprise.
”Yes--yes, a young girl led by an old woman who calls her Louise--”
”Yes--yes, that's her name,” and the young girl became breathless with excitement.
”I know the old woman, too,” continued the Doctor. ”She is called La Frochard--an old hag who goes about whining for alms in the name of Heaven and seven small children.
”Where did I last see them?” he mused. Suddenly he recollected a little scene on the steps of Notre Dame one morning before ma.s.s. ”Oh, yes,” he continued, ”they were begging for charity of the churchgoers at Notre Dame. I noticed that the young girl was blind--professionally interested, I examined her pupils and discovered she was merely suffering from cataracts which could be readily removed. I told the old woman so, asked her to bring the girl for treatment to La Force, but they have never shown up--”
”Quick! Quick!” cried Henriette. ”Tell me, Doctor, where Mere Frochard lives?”