Jezebel's Daughter

by Wilkie Collins

housekeeper's reproof. When the time came for filling the glasses, he had

  the satisfaction of hearing Madame Fontaine herself give him orders to

  draw the cork of a new bottle, after all.

  Mrs. Wagner turned to Jack, standing behind her chair as usual, and asked

  for some wine. Madame Fontaine instantly took up the nearly empty bottle

  by her side, and, half-filling a glass, handed it with grave politeness

  across the table. "If you have no objection," she said, "we will finish

  one bottle, before we open another."

  Mrs. Wagner drank her small portion of wine at a draught. "It doesn't

  seem to keep well, after it has once been opened, she remarked, as she

  set down her glass. "The wine has quite lost the good flavor it had

  yesterday."

  "It ought to keep well," said Mr. Keller, speaking from his place at the

  top of the table. "It's old wine, and good wine. Let me taste what is

  left."

  Joseph advanced to carry the remains of the wine to his master. But

  Madame Fontaine was beforehand with him. "Open the other bottle

  directly," she said--and rose so hurriedly to take the wine herself to

  Mr. Keller, that she caught her foot in her dress. In saving herself from

  falling, she lost her hold of the bottle. It broke in two pieces, and the

  little wine left in it ran out on the floor.

  "Pray forgive me," she said, smiling faintly. "It is the first thing I

  have broken since I have been in the house."

  The wine from the new bottle was offered to Mrs. Wagner. She declined to

  take any: and she left her dinner unfinished on her plate.

  "My appetite is very easily spoilt," she said. "I dare say there might

  have been something I didn't notice in the glass--or perhaps my taste may

  be out of order."

  "Very likely," said Mr. Keller. "You didn't find anything wrong with the

  wine yesterday. And there is certainly nothing to complain of in the new

  bottle," he added, after tasting it. "Let us have your opinion, Madame

  Fontaine."

  He filled the housekeeper's glass. "I am a poor judge of wine," she

  remarked humbly. "It seems to me to be delicious."

  She put her glass down, and noticed that Jack's eyes were fixed on her,

  with a solemn and scrutinizing attention. "Do you see anything remarkable

  in me?" she asked lightly.

  "I was thinking," Jack answered.

  "Thinking of what?"

  "This is the first time I ever saw you in danger of tumbling down. It

  used to be a remark of mine, at Wurzburg, that you were as sure-footed as

  a cat. That's all."

  "Don't you know that there are exceptions to all rules?" said Madame

  Fontaine, as amiably as ever. "I notice an exception in You," she

  continued, suddenly changing the subject. "What has become of your

  leather bag? May I ask if you have taken away his keys, Mrs. Wagner?"

  She had noticed Jack's pride in his character as "Keeper of the Keys."

  There would be no fear of his returning to the subject of what he had

  remarked at Wurzburg, if she stung him in _that_ tender place. The result

  did not fail to justify her anticipations. In fierce excitement, Jack

  jumped up on the hind rail of his mistress's chair, eager for the most

  commanding position that he could obtain, and opened his lips to tell the

  story of the night alarm. Before he could utter a word, Mrs. Wagner

  stopped him, with a very unusual irritability of look and manner. "The

  question was put to _me,"_ she said. "I am taking care of the keys,

  Madame Fontaine, at Jack's own request. He can have them back again,

  whenever he chooses to ask for them."

  "Tell her about the thief," Jack whispered.

  "Be quiet!"

  Jack was silenced at last. He retired to a corner. When he followed Mrs.

  Wagner as usual, on her return to her duties in the office he struck his

  favorite place on the window seat with his clenched fist. "The devil take

  Frankfort!" he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I hate Frankfort. You were always kind to me in London. You do nothing

  but lose your temper with me here. It's really too cruel. Why shouldn't I

  have told Mrs. Housekeeper how I lost my keys in the night? Now I come to

  think of it, I believe she was the thief."

  "Hush! hush! you must not say that. Come and shake hands, Jack, and make

  it up. I do feel irritable--I don't know what's the matter with me.

  Remember, Mr. Keller doesn't like your joining in the talk at

  dinner-time--he thinks it is taking a liberty. That was one reason why I

  stopped you. And you might have said something to offend Madame

  Fontaine--that was another. It will not be long before we go back to our

  dear old London. Now, be a good boy, and leave me to my work."

  Jack was not quite satisfied; but he was quiet again.

  For awhile he sat watching Mrs. Wagner at her work. His thoughts went

  back to the subject of the keys. Other people--the younger clerks and the

  servants, for example--might have observed that he was without his bag,

  and might have injuriously supposed that the keys had been taken away

  from him. Little by little, he reached the conclusion that he had been in

  too great a hurry perhaps to give up the bag. Why not prove himself to be

  worthier of it than ever, by asking to have it back again, and taking

  care always to lock the door of his bedroom at night? He looked at Mrs.

  Wagner, to see if she paused over her work, so as to give him an

  opportunity of speaking to her.

  She was not at work; she was not pausing over it. Her head hung down over

  her breast; her hands and arms lay helpless on the desk.

  He got up and crossed the room on tiptoe, to look at her.

  She was not asleep.

  Slowly and silently, she turned her head. Her eyes stared at him awfully.

  Her mouth was a little crooked. There was a horrid gray paleness all over

  her face.

  He dropped terrified on his knees, and clasped her dress in both hands.

  "Oh, Mistress, Mistress, you are ill! What can I do for you?"

  She tried to reassure him by a smile. Her mouth became more crooked

  still. "I'm not well," she said, speaking thickly and slowly, with an

  effort. "Help me down. Bed. Bed."

  He held out his hands. With another effort, she lifted her arms from the

  desk, and turned to him on the high office-stool.

  "Take hold of me," she said.

  "I have got hold of you, Mistress! I have got your hands in my hands.

  Don't you feel it?"

  "Press me harder."

  He closed his hands on hers with all his strength. Did she feel it now?

  Yes; she could just feel it now.

  Leaning heavily upon him, she set her feet on the floor. She felt with

  them as if she was feeling the floor, without quite understanding that

  she stood on it. The next moment, she reeled against the desk. "Giddy,"

  she said, faintly and thickly. "My head." Her eyes looked at him, cold

  and big and staring. They maddened the poor affectionate creature with

  terror. The frightful shrillness of the past days in Bedlam was in his

  voice, as he screamed for help.

  Mr. Keller rushed into the room from his office, followed by the clerks.

  "Fetch the doctor, one of you," he
cried. "Stop."

  He mastered himself directly, and called to mind what he had heard of the

  two physicians who had attended him, during his own illness. "Not the old

  man," he said. "Fetch Doctor Dormann. Joseph will show you where he

  lives." He turned to another of the clerks, supporting Mrs. Wagner in his

  arms while he spoke. "Ring the bell in the hall--the upstairs bell for

  Madame Fontaine!"

  CHAPTER XIII

  Madame Fontaine instantly left her room. Alarmed by the violent ringing

  of the bell, Minna followed her mother downstairs. The door of the office

  was open; they both saw what had happened as soon as they reached the

  hall. In sending for Madame Fontaine, Mr. Keller had placed a natural

  reliance on the experience and presence of mind of a woman of her age and

  character. To his surprise, she seemed to be as little able to control

  herself as her daughter. He was obliged to summon the assistance of the

  elder of the female servants, in carrying Mrs. Wagner to her room. Jack

  went with them, holding one of his mistress's helpless hands.

  His first paroxysm of terror had passed away with the appearance of Mr.

  Keller and the clerk, and had left his weak mind stunned by the shock

  that had fallen on it. He looked about him vacantly. Once or twice, on

  the slow sad progress up the stairs, they heard him whispering to

  himself, "She won't die--no, no, no; she won't die." His only consolation

  seemed to be in that helpless confession of faith. When they laid her on

  the bed, he was close at the side of the pillow. With an effort, her eyes

  turned on him. With an effort she whispered, "The Key!"

  He understood her--the desk downstairs had been left unlocked.

  "I'll take care of the key, Mistress; I'll take care of them all," he

  said.

  As he left the room, he repeated his comforting words, "She won't

  die--no, no, no; she won't die." He locked the desk and placed the key

  with the rest in his bag.

  Leaving the office with the bag slung over his shoulder, he stopped at

  the door of the dining-room, on the opposite side of the hall. His head

  felt strangely dull. A sudden suspicion that the feeling might show

  itself in his face, made him change his mind and pause before he ascended

  the stairs. There was a looking-glass in the dining-room. He went

  straight to the glass, and stood before it, studying the reflection of

  his face with breathless anxiety. "Do I look stupid-mad?" he asked

  himself. "They won't let me be with her; they'll send me away, if I look

  stupid-mad."

  He turned from the glass, and dropped on his knees before the nearest

  chair. "Perhaps God will keep me quiet," he thought, "if I say my

  prayers."

  Repeating his few simple words, the poor creature's memory vaguely

  recalled to him the happy time when his good mistress had first taught

  him his prayers. The one best relief that could come to him, came--the

  relief of tears. Mr. Keller, descending to the hall in his impatience for

  the arrival of the doctor, found himself unexpectedly confronted by Mrs.

  Wagner's crazy attendant.

  "May I go upstairs to Mistress?" Jack asked humbly. "I've said my

  prayers, sir, and I've had a good cry--and my head's easier now."

  Mr. Keller spoke to him more gently than usual. "You had better not

  disturb your mistress before the doctor comes."

  "May I wait outside her door, sir? I promise to be very quiet."

  Mr. Keller consented by a sign. Jack took off his shoes, and noiselessly

  ascended the stairs. Before he reached the first landing, he turned and

  looked back into the hall. "Mind this!" he announced very earnestly; "I

  say she won't die--_I_ say that!"

  He went on up the stairs. For the first time Mr. Keller began to pity the

  harmless little man whom he had hitherto disliked. "Poor wretch!" he said

  to himself, as he paced up and down the hall, "what will become of him,

  if she does die?"

  In ten minutes more, Doctor Dormann arrived at the house.

  His face showed that he thought badly of the case, as soon as he looked

  at Mrs. Wagner. He examined her, and made all the necessary inquiries,

  with the unremitting attention to details which was part of his

  professional character. One of his questions could only be answered

  generally. Having declared his opinion that the malady was paralysis, and

  that some of the symptoms were far from being common in his medical

  experience, he inquired if Mrs. Wagner had suffered from any previous

  attack of the disease. Mr. Keller could only reply that he had known her

  from the time of her marriage, and that he had never (in the course of a

  long and intimate correspondence with her husband) heard of her having

  suffered from serious illness of any kind. Doctor Dormann looked at his

  patient narrowly, and looked back again at Mr. Keller with unconcealed

  surprise.

  "At her age," he said, "I have never seen any first attack of paralysis

  so complicated and so serious as this."

  "Is there danger?" Mr. Keller asked in a whisper.

  "She is not an old woman," the doctor answered; "there is always hope.

  The practice in these cases generally is to bleed. In this case, the

  surface of the body is cold; the heart's action is feeble--I don't like

  to try bleeding, if I can possibly avoid it."

  After some further consideration, he directed a system of treatment

  which, in some respects, anticipated the practice of a later and wiser

  time. Having looked at the women assembled round the bed--and especially

  at Madame Fontaine--he said he would provide a competent nurse, and would

  return to see the effect of the remedies in two hours.

  Looking at Madame Fontaine, after the doctor had gone away, Mr. Keller

  felt more perplexed than ever. She presented the appearance of a woman

  who was completely unnerved. "I am afraid you are far from well

  yourself," he said.

  "I have not felt well, sir, for some time past," she answered, without

  looking at him.

  "You had better try what rest and quiet will do for you," he suggested.

  "Yes, I think so." With that reply--not even offering, for the sake of

  appearances, to attend on Mrs. Wagner until the nurse arrived--she took

  her daughter's arm, and went out.

  The woman-servant was fortunately a discreet person. She remembered the

  medical instructions, and she undertook all needful duties, until the

  nurse relieved her. Jack (who had followed the doctor into the room, and

  had watched him attentively) was sent away again for the time. He would

  go no farther than the outer side of the door. Mr. Keller passed him,

  crouched up on the mat, biting his nails. He was apparently thinking of

  the doctor. He said to himself, "That man looked puzzled; that man knows

  nothing about it."

  In the meantime, Madame Fontaine reached her room.

  "Where is Fritz?" she asked, dropping her daughter's arm.

  "He has gone out, mamma. Don't send me away! You seem to be almost as ill

  as poor Mrs. Wagner--I want to be with you."

  Madame Fontaine hesitated. "Do you love me with all your heart and soul?"

  she asked suddenly. "Ar
e you worthy of any sacrifice that a mother can

  make for her child?"

  Before the girl could answer, she spoke more strangely still.

  "Are you just as fond of Fritz as ever? would it break your heart if you

  lost him?"

  Minna placed her mother's hand on her bosom.

  "Feel it, mamma," she said quietly. Madame Fontaine took her chair by the

  fire-side--seating herself with her back to the light. She beckoned to

  her daughter to sit by her. After an interval, Minna ventured to break

  the silence.

  "I am very sorry for Mrs. Wagner, mamma; she has always been so kind to

  me. Do you think she will die?" Resting her elbows on her knees, staring

  into the fire, the widow lifted her head--looked round--and looked back

  again at the fire.

  "Ask the doctor," she said. "Don't ask me."

  There was another long interval of silence. Minna's eyes were fixed

  anxiously on her mother. Madame Fontaine remained immovable, still

  looking into the fire.

  Afraid to speak again, Minna sought refuge from the oppressive stillness

  in a little act of attention. She took a fire-screen from the

  chimney-piece, and tried to place it gently in her mother's hand.

  At that light touch, Madame Fontaine sprang to her feet as if she had

  felt the point of a knife. Had she seen some frightful thing? had she

  heard some dreadful sound? "I can't bear it!" she cried--"I can't bear it

  any longer!"

  "Are you in pain, mamma? Will you lie down on the bed?" Her mother only

  looked at her. She drew back trembling, and said no more.

  Madame Fontaine crossed the room to the wardrobe. When she spoke next,

  she was outwardly quite calm again. "I am going out for a walk," she

  said.

  "A walk, mamma? It's getting dark already."

  "Dark or light, my nerves are all on edge--I must have air and exercise."

  "Let me go with you?"

  She paced backwards and forwards restlessly, before she answered. "The

  room isn't half large enough!" she burst out. "I feel suffocated in these

  four walls. Space! space! I must have space to breathe in! Did you say

  you wished to go out with me? I want a companion, Minna. Don't you mind

  the cold?"

  "I don't even feel it, in my fur cloak."

  "Get ready, then, directly."

  In ten minutes more, the mother and daughter were out of the house.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Doctor Dormann was punctual to his appointment. He was accompanied by a

  stranger, whom he introduced as a surgeon. As before, Jack slipped into

  the room, and waited in a corner, listening and watching attentively.

  Instead of improving under the administration of the remedies, the state

  of the patient had sensibly deteriorated. On the rare occasions when she

  attempted to speak, it was almost impossible to understand her. The sense

  of touch seemed to be completely lost--the poor woman could no longer

  feel the pressure of a friendly hand. And more ominous still, a new

  symptom had appeared; it was with evident difficulty that she performed

  the act of swallowing. Doctor Dormann turned resignedly to the surgeon.

  "There is no other alternative," he said; "you must bleed her."

  At the sight of the lancet and the bandage, Jack started out of his

  corner. His teeth were fast set; his eyes glared with rage. Before he

  could approach the surgeon Mr. Keller took him sternly by the arm and

  pointed to the door. He shook himself free--he saw the point of the

  lancet touch the vein. As the blood followed the incision, a cry of

  horror burst from him: he ran out of the room.

  "Wretches! Tigers! How dare they take her blood from her! Oh, why am I

  only a little man? why am I not strong enough to fling the brutes out of