All one night Eugenia feared that Captain Castaigne would die. This was the fourteenth night after the beginning of his fever and a crisis in the disease. So for twenty-four hours she did not have one-half hour of uninterrupted sleep. It was not because the young man needed her constant care, for indeed he was never conscious of her existence. When he called it was always to ask for some one else, and yet it was always Eugenia who answered. Then for a little while at least the patient would seem to be satisfied.
But if at their first accidental meeting in Paris the four American Red Cross girls had considered Captain Castaigne absurdly young for his captain’s commission, what must they have thought of him now? To Eugenia he appeared like a boy of sixteen.
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It is true that he had a tiny dark moustache, but except for this his face remained smooth. Then his nurse had been compelled to cut off all his dark hair in order to cool his head, and his slender body had become wasted and his eyes sunken. Indeed, the features, which Eugenia had once considered too perfect for a man’s, now frequently made her think of a delicate cameo, when he lay with his face in profile against the pure white of his pillow.
Watching him on this night, which she feared might be his last, Eugenia felt unusually moved.
After all, he must have been a brave and capable fellow to have received his present rank in the French army while still so young. Moreover, there was a possibility that Captain Castaigne had more force of character than she had ever given him credit for. Had he not rebelled against his mother’s ideas of rank and dignity, and in spite of his devotion to her refused to keep his title in a country which was now a republic? Of course, Eugenia could not believe that the young man really had the true democratic[229] spirit in which she so thoroughly trusted. Still there was a chance that he might not be so futile a character as she had first supposed.
Leaning over to wipe her patient’s face with a damp cloth, Eugenia made up her mind to one thing. If Captain Castaigne died she would go at once to the German colonel in command of the French village and confess what she had done. Of necessity she must be punished for her falsehood and treachery, but surely she would be permitted to send for the Countess Amélie at the last. The young French officer could be of no interest to his enemies after his death.
But where the Countess could be hiding, nor whom she could find to send for her, Eugenia had not the faintest idea. For these past two weeks she had been so entirely shut away from the outside world. Except for her one visit to the German colonel she had never left the little “House with the Blue Front Door” since the night she first brought her patient into it. Nor had Eugenia received a single line from[230] any one of the other three Red Cross girls to afford her the faintest idea of what could have become of them. But she did not worry so much as she might have done at a time when she was less occupied. Besides, naturally she believed that the three girls were with the French field hospital at some point back of the line of the French army’s retreat.
Toward dawn Eugenia knew that the hour of greatest danger to her patient would arrive. For it is an acknowledged scientific fact that life is at its lowest ebb with the rising and the setting of the sun.
Therefore, just before this time Eugenia left her patient’s bedside and went into the room adjoining, which she used for her own needs. There she washed her face and hands in cold water and, letting down her heavy hair, plaited it in two braids. She was very tired and yet must prepare herself to meet the coming hour with all the strength and wisdom she could muster.
Even as she made her toilet she was aware of the feverish muttering of the young officer. His stupor had passed[231] several days before, but since his nurse could not decide whether his weak restlessness and almost incessant crying out were not worse symptoms. Certainly they were more trying upon her nerves.
“Ma mère, ma mère,” he was repeating his mother’s name over and over again, as if he must see her again before his spirit could leave his body.
Eugenia slipped back and for the hundredth time laid her hand gently on the young fellow’s brow. Somehow he must be quieted, comforted into thinking his mother near him. Then if he never returned to consciousness he would pass out of the world’s alarms with a sense of her presence.
Do you recall that Barbara Meade had discovered a wonderful, healing quality in the touch of Eugenia’s hands? It is true that a few people have this vital, health-giving quality in their hands, which is not true of others.
Anyhow, Eugenia’s patient grew quieter, although he still murmured a broken word now and then. He was strangely pathetic,[232] because, however much he might move his arms and the upper part of his body, his legs remained lifeless. For now and then when he had endeavored to change his position the pain had been so great as to pierce through his stupor.
“Mon fils, mon fils,” Eugenia whispered several times. It was all the French she dared permit herself to speak, and yet the simple words “my son,” even spoken by a New England old maid, carried their magic.
Yet Eugenia was looking little like an old maid as she leaned over the French boy—and he was scarcely more than a boy. She wore the violet wrapper, and as she kneeled her long dark braids of hair lay upon the floor. She too had grown thin and white from her two weeks’ vigil of nursing, cooking, taking entire charge of her patient, herself and the little house. Nevertheless, Eugenia’s face had for some reason softened, perhaps because she was too weary and too selfless in her devotion to her patient to feel superior to any earthly thing. At this moment her eyes were both sad and hopeful, while her lashes looked[233] longer and darker than usual against the pallor of her cheeks.
Finally Captain Castaigne moved away from the soft pressure of his nurse’s hands. As he moved with more strength than Eugenia believed him to possess, for the next instant she watched him even more closely.
He was muttering a number of confused phrases, now and then what sounded like a command to his soldiers. Then all at once he stopped and laughed a little fool............