XIII

"During the last year of my residence as house surgeon I earned

enough to repay all I owed to this worthy Auvergnat by buying him

a barrel and a horse. He was furious with rage at learning that I

had been depriving myself of spending my money, and yet he was

delighted to see his wishes fulfilled; he laughed and scolded, he

looked at his barrel, at his horse, and wiped away a tear, as he

said, 'It is too bad. What a splendid barrel! You really ought

not. Why, that horse is as strong as an Auvergnat!'

"I never saw a more touching scene. Bourgeat insisted on buying

for me the case of instruments mounted in silver which you have

seen in my room, and which is to me the most precious thing

there. Though enchanted with my first success, never did the

least sign, the least word, escape him which might imply, 'This

man owes all to me!' And yet, but for him, I should have died of

want; he had eaten bread rubbed with garlic that I might have

coffee to enable me to sit up at night.

"He fell ill. As you may suppose, I passed my nights by his

bedside, and the first time I pulled him through; but two years

after he had a relapse; in spite of the utmost care, in spite of

the greatest exertions of science, he succumbed. No king was ever

nursed as he was. Yes, Bianchon, to snatch that man from death I

tried unheard-of things. I wanted him to live long enough to show

him his work accomplished, to realize all his hopes, to give

expression to the only need for gratitude that ever filled my

heart, to quench a fire that burns in me to this day.

"Bourgeat, my second father, died in my arms," Desplein went on,

after a pause, visibly moved. "He left me everything he possessed

by a will he had had made by a public scrivener, dating from the

year when we had gone to live in the Cour de Rohan.

"This man's faith was perfect; he loved the Holy Virgin as he

might have loved his wife. He was an ardent Catholic, but never

said a word to me about my want of religion. When he was dying he

entreated me to spare no expense that he might have every

possible benefit of clergy. I had a mass said for him every day.

Often, in the night, he would tell me of his fears as to his

future fate; he feared his life had not been saintly enough. Poor

man! he was at work from morning till night. For whom, then, is

Paradise--if there be a Paradise? He received the last sacrament

like the saint that he was, and his death was worthy of his life.