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Updated: June 23, 2025
When I found Mrs. Fontenette again she had the child undressed and in his crib, and I remembered how often I had, in my heart, called her a coward. She saw me pencil on a slip of paper at the mantelpiece, and went and read "You mustn't stay. He has the fever. You've never had it." She wrote beneath "I should have got it weeks ago if God paid wages every day. Don't turn me off."
Stranger still was it how she could be the marital partner the mate, to speak plainly of such a one, without showing or feeling the slightest spiritual debasement. Finally, however, I caught some light. I had stepped over to ask after "Mine hussbandt," everyone else of us being busy with our own sick. Senda was letting Fontenette take her place in the sick-room, which, of course, was shut close.
It awakens all the tenderness at once that I ever had for Mrs. Fontenette, to recall what she was to him in those hours, and to us when his agonies were all past, and he lay so stately on his short bier, and she could not be done going to it and looking looking with streaming eyes.
As I was in my fat neighbor's sick chamber one evening, giving his nurse a respite, word came that Fontenette was at my gate. I went to him with misgivings that only increased as we greeted. He was dejected and agitated. His grasp was damp and cold. "It cou'n' stay from me always," he said in an anguished voice, and I cried in my soul, "She's told him!" But she had not.
Vell, sat is vun sing se preacher forget to say May be he haf not se time, but I sink he forget: sat sare is no hussbandt in se whole vorldt and also sare is no vife so sp' spirit' spirited? no? Ah, yes spiritual! yes, sank you. Vhen I catch me a bigk vord I am so proudt, yet, as I hadt a fish caught!" I was willing to believe it, but thought how still more true it was of Mrs. Fontenette.
I remember we were among the few roses of her small flower-beds at the time, and I was trying to show her what was blighting them all in the bud. She called them "rose-es." They rarely bloomed for her; she was always for being the rose herself as Monsieur Fontenette once said; but he said it with a glance of fond admiration.
Suddenly, however, he ceased eating and began to pour forth an account of his day's observation; in response to which M. Fontenette, to my amused mystification, led us all in the interest with which we listened. The Baron forgot his food, and when reminded of it, pushed it away with a grunt and talked on and on, while we almost forgot our own.
I sink sat iss not much trouble to be a countess in Ame'ica? "Se secondt sing" here a servant entered, and, it seemed to me, never would go out, but Senda waited till we were again alone "se secondt pahdon me, I sink I shall betteh se secondt sing divide again into two aw sree. And se fairst is sat Monsieur Fontenette vill like ve'y ve'y much to come home now right avay."
Fontenette was saying, when Senda interrupted: "Ah! vhat vife is sat? In vhat part of se vorldt does she lif, and how long she is marriedt? No-o, no! Sare is only vun kindt of vife in se whole vorldt vhat realize her ideal hussbandt; and sat is se vife vhat idealize her real hussbandt.
As I gave Fontenette a light for his cigarette I held his eye for a moment with a brightness of face into which I put as significant approval as I dared; for I fancied the same unuttered word was brooding in both our hearts: "A new vay to remoof old stains." Then he turned and gave all his attention once more to the entomologist, as they walked out upon the gallery together behind their wives.
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