The news of Jean’s illness spread rapidly. Before Mimi and Mrs. Daquin could finish dressing they began to come with offers of help. Mrs. Adams and Hilda were the first. Hilda and Mimi held each other close, all differences melted away by the sadness which had come to Mimi. For a long time now Hilda had known from Carl’s attitude that her hopes were of no avail. She had freely unburdened her woes at last to her mother and in the telling of them and the ready sympathy which she received from Mrs. Adams had found the peace of resignation. She knew through some psychic means that Carl loved Mimi and her newfound calm enabled her to feel thoroughly happy for their sakes. …
All day they came. Mimi never knew there could be so much solicitude, so much genuine kindness. One came and prepared a meal, another tidied the house, another volunteered to do errands. Mimi felt ashamed of her dislike for some of them in the past. Affliction had shown her the real worth which lay beneath the petty malice, the ignominious bickerings and jealousies which to her had seemed the outstanding characteristics of many of these folks.
Jean slept the greater part of the day. Late in the afternoon Dr. Adams gave him another stimulant. Mimi had begun to show the strain through which she had been and he urged her to go for a walk. Returning, she found Mrs. Daquin waiting for her in the hall.
“Your father’s been asking for you. Dr. Adams said it would be all right for you to go in and see him but he must not be excited.”
He smiled as she entered the darkened room.
“I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble,” he apologized as Mimi kissed him tenderly. As she bent over him she noticed for the first time how white his hair had become. His moustache and goatee, too, without their daily brushing and waxing, looked less magnificent than they had always seemed. Jean’s eyes were sunken, his face lined with the suffering he had been through. An ineffable pity filled her, she wished eagerly even as she knew it was futile that she could take his place.
“Do you remember that day in the St. Louis cemetery just before we came here?” Jean was asking.
“Do I remember it? I’ll never forget it,” she assured him.
“It seems a long, long time ago.”
A reminiscent, faraway look came into Jean’s eyes and he lay there, his thin hands resting on his chest, for several minutes without speaking. Mimi waited. At last he stirred, smiling again at her, this time apologetically.
“We were happy there, weren’t we, Mimi? I’ve never been satisfied here. Too much rushing about, no time for living—real living. And you and I—we haven’t had the time here for the long walks we used to take when we were home. No—no—I’m not blaming you,” he assured her as she started to speak. “We’ve both been too busy—”
But Mimi felt a sting in the words. She knew there was none intended, it was her own conscience that lashed her. She wished fervently she had not been so selfish, that she had thought more of Jean. She knew now he had never been happy in Atlanta. His leisurely, reflective nature made him unhappy, he was wholly out of place anywhere save in some easygoing place like his beloved Louisiana.
“I suppose it’s been for the best, though. Young people like you haven’t much patience for the old ways and customs—you, too, would in time have become unhappy there. But I didn’t intend to ramble off like that. It’s about you I wanted to talk. … You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Mimi,” he declared, proudly. “Every day you look more like Margot did when I first knew her. And you’ve ways like hers—only you’ve more spirit, more fire. …”
Again he lay silent and Mimi, knowing instinctively he was living again his days with Margot, hardly dared breathe lest she break the spell. The room grew dark but neither of them noticed it. From outside came the soft cries of children at play far away, the bumping of a short, fat street car as it meandered down Auburn Avenue, the shrill voice of a woman calling her child to supper.
“I’m worried, Mimi—not afraid—just worried. I’ve had these heart attacks before but I said nothing about them because I didn’t want to worry you and Mary—but this one last night was the worst one yet.”
She sought to comfort him, telling him little falsehoods about the allegedly minor importance which Dr. Adams had attached to the attack. It’ll pass over and he’ll be none the worse for it, were the words she put in the physician’s mouth.
“Did he say that really?” Jean asked anxiously, yet hopefully.
She assured him that those were the exact words. Jean leaned back on his pillow, a more peaceful look on his face which removed some of the shame she was feeling on account of the lie. She would have lied a thousand times cheerfully if they served to make him more content.
“He didn’t seem so optimistic when he was talking to me,” Jean mused. “I suppose he was trying to scare me so I would stay in bed.”
“Of course that was what he intended. Doctors assume patients will do just about half what they are told to do, so they are told to do twice what they need to do,” she encouraged him.
“I’m tired, Mimi—so tired. I think I’ll take a little nap now,” he said after a pause. “I wanted to talk to you because I didn’t know how serious this attack might be tell you to remember, whatever happened, you’re a Daquin, but now I’ve heard what the doctor said, that can wait. You’re a beautiful girl, Mimi, almost too beautiful. But you’ll come through all right—just make up your own mind what’s the right
