But,
before the fist of Simon, already raised, could fall upon the poor
head of the little sufferer, a thrilling cry of pain resounded from
the bed.
"Simon, come to me," gasped Jeanne Marie. "Help me draw the dagger
out of my breast, I am dying--oh, I am dying!"
"What kind of a dagger?" cried Simon, rushing to the bed and taking
the convulsed form of his wife in his arms.
"Hush!" whispered the doctor, who also had gone to the bed of the
sick woman--"hush! she is speaking in her fever, and the dagger of
which she talks she feels in her heart and conscience. You must
spare her, citizen, if you do not want her to die. Every thing must
be quiet around her, and you must be very careful not to agitate her
nerves, lest she have an acute typhoid fever. I will send her some
cooling medicine at once, and to-morrow morning I will come early to
see how it fares with her. But, above every thing else, Simon,
remember to have quiet, that your good wife may get well again."
"Who would have told me two weeks ago that Jeanne Marie had nerves?"
growled Simon. "The first knitter of the guillotine, and now all at
once nerves and tears, but I must be careful of her. For it would be
too bad if she should die and leave me all alone with this tedious
youngster. I could not hold out. I should run away.
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