When the patient arrived in Paris, his father and fiancee were
transfigured. They were going to see him, and that was enough to make
them imagine that he was already recuperated.
Chichi hastened to the hospital with her mother and the senator. Then
she went alone and insisted on remaining there, on living at the wounded
man's side, waging war on all regulations and clashing with Sisters
of Charity, trained nurses, and all who roused in her the hatred of
rivalry. Soon realizing that all her violence accomplished nothing, she
humiliated herself and became suddenly very submissive, trying with her
wiles, to win the women over one by one. Finally, she was permitted to
spend the greater part of the day with Rene.
When Desnoyers first saw the wounded artilleryman in bed, he had to make
a great effort to keep the tears back. . . . Ay, his son, too, might be
brought to this sad pass! . . . The man looked to him like an Egyptian
mummy, because of his complete envelopment in tight bandage wrappings.
The sharp hulls of the shell had fairly riddled him. There could only
be seen a pair of sweet eyes and a blond bit of moustache sticking up
between white bands. The poor fellow was trying to smile at Chichi, who
was hovering around him with a certain authority as though she were in
her own home.
Two months rolled by. Rene was better, almost well.
Pages:
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575