The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence

"Softly, Jacques, softly," said the bailiff, beginning to feel concerned about his comrade's condition. "The roads are not good and you must not upset us. Come, come now, Jacques, do pay attention! Ah, you do not look an inch before you!"

We will leave M. Bridou in his constantly increasing perplexity and will return to the farm.

As we have said, Marie, after having tried in vain to reach the stable through the garden gate, came back and cowered down in one of the corners of the porch.

During the first half-hour the cold had caused her the most painful suffering. To this torture succeeded a sort of numbness at first very distressing; then soon followed a state of almost complete insensibility, an invincible torpor, which in such circumstances often proves a transition to death.

Marie, brave as ever, preserved her presence of mind a long time and tried to divert her thoughts from the danger that she was running, saying to herself that at three o'clock in the morning there must necessarily be some stir in the house caused by the departure of M. Bastien, who wished, as Marguerite had told her, to set out on his journey at the rising of the moon.

Whether he left or not, the young woman intended to profit by the going and coming of Marguerite, and to make herself heard by rapping either on the door of the corridor or the blinds of the dining-room, and thus gain an entrance into her chamber.

But the terrible influence of the cold – the rapid and piercing effects of which were unknown to Madame Bastien – froze, so to speak, her thoughts, as it froze her limbs.

At the end of the half-hour the exhausted woman yielded to an unconquerable drowsiness, from which she would rise a moment by sheer force of courage, to fall back again into a deeper sleep than before.

About three o'clock in the morning, the light that Marguerite carried had several times shone through the window-blinds, and her steps had resounded behind the front door.

But Marie, in an ever increasing torpor, saw nothing and heard nothing.

Fortunately, in one of the rare periods when she succeeded in rousing herself from her stupor, she trembled at the voice of Bastien; as he went out with Bridou he noisily drew the bolt of the door.

At the voice of her husband the young woman, by an almost superhuman effort of will, roused herself from her stupor, rose, although stiff and almost bent double by the icy cold, went out of the porch, and hid herself behind one of the ivy-covered posts, just as the door opened before Bastien and Bridou, who went out through the garden gate. Marie, seeing the two men depart, slipped into the house and reached her chamber without having met Marguerite. But the moment she rang, her strength failed, and she fell on the floor unconscious.

The servant ran at the sound of her mistress's bell, found her lying in the middle of the floor, and cried, as she stooped to lift her up:

"Great God! madame, what has happened to you?"

"Silence!" murmured the young woman in a feeble voice; "do not wake my son! Help me to get back to bed."

"Alas! madame," said the servant, sustaining Marie as the poor woman got into bed, "you are shivering, you are frozen."

"To-night," replied the young mother, with a failing voice, "feeling myself in pain I tried to rise to ring for you. I had not the strength, I was ill, and just this moment I dragged myself to the chimney to call you, and I – "

The young woman did not finish; her teeth clashed together, her head fell back, and she fainted.

Marguerite, frightened at the responsibility resting on her, and losing her presence of mind entirely, cried, as she ran to Frederick's chamber:

"Monsieur, monsieur! get up! madame is very ill." Then, returning to Marie, she cried, kneeling down by the bed:

"My God! what must I do, what must I do?"

At the end of a few moments Frederick, having put on his dressing-gown, came out of his chamber.

Imagine his agony at the sight of his mother, – pale, inanimate, and from time to time writhing under a convulsive chill.

"Mother," cried Frederick, kneeling in despair by Marie's pillow. "Mother, answer me, what is the matter?"

"Alas! M. Frederick," said Marguerite, sobbing, "madame is unconscious. What shall I do, my God, what shall I do?"

"Marguerite," cried Frederick, "run and wake M. David."

While Frederick, in unspeakable terror, remained near his mother, the servant hurried to André's chamber, where David had spent the night. The preceptor, dressing himself in haste, opened the door for Marguerite.

"My God! what is the matter?"

"M. David, a great trouble, – madame – "

"Go on."

"To-night she was taken ill and rose to ring for me; all her strength failed her; she had fallen in the middle of her chamber, where she lay a long time on the floor; when I entered and helped her to bed she was frozen."

"On such a night, – it is frightful!" cried David, turning pale; "and now, how is she?"

"My God! M. David, she has fainted away. Poor M. Frederick is on his knees at her pillow sobbing; he calls her, but she hears nothing. It was he who told me to run for you, because we do not know what to do, we have all lost our head."

"You must tell André to hitch up and go in haste to Pont Brillant for Doctor Dufour. Run, run, Marguerite."

"Alas! monsieur, that is impossible. Master left this morning at three o'clock with the horse, and André is so old that he would take I do not know how much time to go to the city."

"I will go," said David, with a calmness which belied the agitation depicted in his face.

"You, M. David, go to the city on foot so far this freezing night!"

"In an hour," replied David, as he finished dressing himself for the journey, "Doctor Dufour will be here. Tell Frederick that to calm him. While waiting my return, you had better take some warm tea to Madame Bastien. Try to get her warm by covering her with care, and drawing her bed near the large fire which you must kindle immediately. Come, courage, Marguerite," added David, taking his hat and hastily descending the stairs; "be sure to tell Frederick Doctor Dufour will be here in an hour."

Marguerite, after having conducted David to the garden gate, came to get the lamp that she had left on the threshold of the door, sheltered by the rustic porch.

As she stooped to take up the lamp she saw, half hidden by the snow, a neckerchief of orange silk belonging to Madame Bastien, and almost in the same spot she found a little slipper of red morocco encrusted, so to speak, in the snow hardened by the ice.

More and more surprised, and wondering how these articles, which evidently belonged to her mistress, came to be there, Marguerite, struck with a sudden idea, picked up the neckerchief and the slipper, then, with the aid of her lamp, she examined attentively the pavement of the corridor.

There she recognised the recent imprint of snow-covered feet, so that in following this trace of Madame Bastien's little feet she noticed the last tracks at the door of her mistress. Suddenly Marguerite recollected that when she had assisted her mistress, overcome by the cold, to get in bed, it had not been unmade; other circumstances corroborated these observations, and the servant, terrified at the discovery she had just made, entered Madame Bastien's chamber, where Frederick was sitting near his mother.

An hour and a quarter after David's departure a cabriolet with two horses white with foam and marked with the postilion's whip stopped at the door of the farm.

David and Doctor Dufour descended from this carriage.

CHAPTER XXXIX

ABOUT three hours had passed since the doctor had arrived at the farm.

David, discreetly withdrawn into the library, waited with mortal anxiety the news of Madame Bastien, with whom the doctor and Frederick remained.

Once only, David, standing in the door of the library, and seeing Marguerite rapidly passing, as she came from the chamber of her mistress, called, in a low voice:

"Ah, well, Marguerite?"

"Ah, M. David!" was the only reply of the weeping woman, who passed on without stopping.