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Updated: June 23, 2025
Fontenette grew visibly older and less pretty, yet more nearly beautiful; while he, by every sign, was gradually awakening back or, shall we not say, being now first born? to life, through the pangs of a torn mind; mind, not conscience; but pangs never of sated, always of the famished sort. It was he who finally put the very seal of confirmation upon both our hopes and our fears.
We never had to tell Fontenette that he was widowed. We had only to be long enough silent, and when he ceased, for a time, to get better, and rather lost the strength he had been gaining, and on entering his room we found him always with his face to the wall, we saw that he knew.
I coul'n' do like that; but I do the bes' I could; he is at my 'ouse in bed. An' my own doctor sen' word what to do an' he'll come in the mawning. At the cottage my companions remained outside. As I entered Senda caught one glance and exclaimed, "Ah, mine hussbandt is foundt and is anyhow alife!" "Yes," I replied, "but he's ill. Mr. Fontenette met him and took him to his house.
I silently entered the room in front of it, and perceiving that Mrs. Fontenette had drawn her into the other front room, adjoining a door stood half open between and was tempting her with refreshments, I sat down to await their next move. So presently I began to hear what they said to each other in their gentle speculations. "A wife who has realized her ideal," Mrs.
Fontenette had said, and I naturally used her husband, who was thirty-one, for the comparison. Why, this man? It would have been a laughable flattery to have guessed his age to be forty-five. Yet that was really the fact. Many a man looks younger at sixty oh, at sixty-five! He was dark, bloodless, bowed, thin, weatherbeaten, ill-clad a picture of decent, incurable penury.
"Please, sir," said a new maid in place of one who had gone home fever struck and had died "yo' lady saunt me fo' to tell you yo' little boy a sett'n on de back steps an' sayin' his head does ache him, an' she wish you'd 'ten' to him, 'caze she cayn't leave his lill' sisteh, 'caze she threaten with convulsion'." Mrs. Fontenette and the maid silently ran in ahead of me; I went first to the mother.
No, I vill not sell t'em." "Oh, I see," said I, in mortal disgust. "Fontenette, I'm going to bed." And Fontenette went too. The next day was cloudless in two hearts; Senda's, and Fontenette's. As to the sky, that is another matter; one of the charms of that warm wet land is that, with all its sunshine, it is almost never without clouds.
And the German woman courted the pretty New Englander as sweetly as the Creole courted her husband, and with twice the energy. She was a bubbling spring of information in the Baron's science; she was a well of sweet philosophy on life and conduct, and at every turn of their conversation, always letting Mrs. Fontenette turn it, she showed her own to be the better mind and the better training.
When Senda, while the patient dozed, stole brief moments of sleep to keep what she could of her overtasked powers, her place, at the bedside, was always filled by Fontenette, who as often kept his promise to call her the instant her husband should rouse.
When Mrs. Fontenette, before any one else, rose to go maybe my dislike of her only made it seem so but I believed she did it out of pure bafflement and chagrin. Not so believed her husband.
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