With this she went off in a regular fit of hysterics; and Elinor had her hands full, trying to bring her round. Hysterics are infectious; and Madame Germaine sat in her place, and sobbed helplessly,—not in sympathy, but by infection,—whilst her tears fell into her plate.
I saw that Elinor was tremendously distressed, and I cursed the misinspired moment when I had arranged this feast. “Terrible, terrible!” she murmured, shaking her head and looking at me with pained eyes. When at length Zizi was calm again, Elinor asked, “You won’t mind if I speak with Monsieur in English?” and then said to me, “This is quite too dreadful. We must do something for her. We must save her from consumption; and perhaps at the same time we can redeem her, make a good woman of her. She has it in her.”
I respected Elinor’s sincerity too much to laugh at the utopian quality of her optimism: so I waived the latter of her remarks, and replied only to the former. “I should be glad to do anything possible for her, but I don’t exactly see what is possible. Besides, I don’t believe she’s threatened with consumption, any more than I am. This is a pose, to make herself interestingly pathetic in your eyes, and get some money. You’ll see—she’s going to strike me for fifty francs. It’s the sum they usually ask for. And she wants to win your sanction to the gift beforehand.”
Surely enough, Zizi lifted up her tearful face, its features all puffed out and empurpled, and said at this very moment, in a whimper that ought to have hardened the softest heart, “If Monsieur could give me a little money—a couple of louis—a fifty-franc note? I could buy medicines and things.”
“Nonsense,” said I, brutally; “you’d buy chiffons and things.”
She laughed without offence, and gave me a knowing glance, but protested, “Non, sérieusement, je veux me soigner.” Then she turned to Elinor, and pleaded coaxingly, “Madame, tell him to give me fifty francs—pour me soigner.”
“No,” Elinor replied; “he won’t give you fifty francs, but this is what he will do, what we will do. If you will obey the doctor’s orders, send your friends about their business, and lead a perfectly regular life for the time being, we will undertake to see that you want for nothing during the next six months. After that, nous verrons! For the present, that is what we offer you: six months in which to give yourself every chance for a cure. Only, during those six months—faut etre sage.”