question meant nothing sentimental or embarrassing to Nicholas. He said, “It was fun, wasn’t it? Those were good old days.” But he did not sound as though he regretted their passing.
She asked again about the lilies-of-the-valley.
“Do all French people give them to their friends at the beginning of May?”
“It’s rather a pretty custom, don’t you think? They’re supposed to bring good luck. There are nice little cards on sale, too, rather like birthday cards. May the first is a holiday, of course, the ‘Feast of Workers.’ Anyone who likes can go and pick the muguets in the woods and sell them. That’s why Gillian thought it would be a good idea to dig up some roots today, before the rush starts.”
So there was a definite purpose behind this outing—to get roots for Gillian’s garden. Adrien tried hard not to feel disappointed.
They had brought sandwiches with them, and they sat on the muguet-carpeted turf and ate them, and drank lemonade out of one glass. That was painfully like the old days. There was nobody about. A little way back they had passed, in the car, whole groups of family picnickers. But here there was nobody.
When they had finished—neither of them had eaten much—Adrien had packed the remains of what Jeanne had provided back in the bag. Nicholas, who had been silent for some minutes, lost in thought, his face shadowed, asked quickly,
“Adrien, please, may I have your opinion as a nurse?”
“Of course,” Adrien answered steadily. All illusions that this was a picnic from the old days vanished in an instant. Her heart was ashamed and cold as ice. “What did you want to ask me, Nicholas?”
“What’s your opinion, your real, honest opinion, of this Dr. Dubois? Forget professional etiquette, won’t you, Adrien, and tell me as a friend, as well as a nurse.”
Her opinion of Dr. Dubois? It was extraordinarily difficult to answer that question, Adrien found.
“He’s a very clever doctor. I’m sure of that. You can trust him, Nicholas.”
“And as a man?”
“I like him. I like him very much.” Adrien was surprised to find herself saying that, still more surprised to realize it was the truth.
“Then you think there’s a chance, a faint chance, that this treatment may work? I can’t bear Gillian to suffer for nothing.”
Adrien shivered at the tremble in his voice he couldn’t control. She ached to comfort him.
She said earnestly, laying her hand on his, “Dr. Dubois thinks there is more than a faint chance, and I’m sure, I’m sure he is right.”
Nicholas sighed dispiritedly, leaning back against the moss. “If only he could be right... Oh, Adrien! Gillian has been ill so long, it seems. All these lovely spring days—she always loved the spring so. And she can’t enjoy them. She just lies there. Sometimes I think she would be better dead. But how could I live without her?”
“Oh, Nicholas!” Compassion swamped all Adrien’s other feelings. “You mustn’t say that. She has you, and your love.” And to herself she added, “That’s enough for anybody.”
Nicholas said brokenly, “There’s so little I can do for her. It seems I have to leave everything to you and Dubois. Not that I don’t appreciate all you do, but—” He stumbled awkwardly to his feet. “If you don’t mind, Adrien, I think I’d like to get home.”
They didn’t talk much on the journey home. They were held up by a bicycle race, and afterward they found themselves part of the procession of gaily decorated cars and vans following the competitors. Trade s men adverti s ed their wares through loudspeakers, and threw out pink, blue and yellow pamphlets from the vans. All the householders and their children had come out to watch. Everybody was happy and smiling.
Nicholas gritted his teeth, curbing his impatience.
They got home at last. They were surprised to see Dr. Dubois on the threshold, talking to Dr. Lerouge and Jeanne. He was not expected, because he had said he
She asked again about the lilies-of-the-valley.
“Do all French people give them to their friends at the beginning of May?”
“It’s rather a pretty custom, don’t you think? They’re supposed to bring good luck. There are nice little cards on sale, too, rather like birthday cards. May the first is a holiday, of course, the ‘Feast of Workers.’ Anyone who likes can go and pick the muguets in the woods and sell them. That’s why Gillian thought it would be a good idea to dig up some roots today, before the rush starts.”
So there was a definite purpose behind this outing—to get roots for Gillian’s garden. Adrien tried hard not to feel disappointed.
They had brought sandwiches with them, and they sat on the muguet-carpeted turf and ate them, and drank lemonade out of one glass. That was painfully like the old days. There was nobody about. A little way back they had passed, in the car, whole groups of family picnickers. But here there was nobody.
When they had finished—neither of them had eaten much—Adrien had packed the remains of what Jeanne had provided back in the bag. Nicholas, who had been silent for some minutes, lost in thought, his face shadowed, asked quickly,
“Adrien, please, may I have your opinion as a nurse?”
“Of course,” Adrien answered steadily. All illusions that this was a picnic from the old days vanished in an instant. Her heart was ashamed and cold as ice. “What did you want to ask me, Nicholas?”
“What’s your opinion, your real, honest opinion, of this Dr. Dubois? Forget professional etiquette, won’t you, Adrien, and tell me as a friend, as well as a nurse.”
Her opinion of Dr. Dubois? It was extraordinarily difficult to answer that question, Adrien found.
“He’s a very clever doctor. I’m sure of that. You can trust him, Nicholas.”
“And as a man?”
“I like him. I like him very much.” Adrien was surprised to find herself saying that, still more surprised to realize it was the truth.
“Then you think there’s a chance, a faint chance, that this treatment may work? I can’t bear Gillian to suffer for nothing.”
Adrien shivered at the tremble in his voice he couldn’t control. She ached to comfort him.
She said earnestly, laying her hand on his, “Dr. Dubois thinks there is more than a faint chance, and I’m sure, I’m sure he is right.”
Nicholas sighed dispiritedly, leaning back against the moss. “If only he could be right... Oh, Adrien! Gillian has been ill so long, it seems. All these lovely spring days—she always loved the spring so. And she can’t enjoy them. She just lies there. Sometimes I think she would be better dead. But how could I live without her?”
“Oh, Nicholas!” Compassion swamped all Adrien’s other feelings. “You mustn’t say that. She has you, and your love.” And to herself she added, “That’s enough for anybody.”
Nicholas said brokenly, “There’s so little I can do for her. It seems I have to leave everything to you and Dubois. Not that I don’t appreciate all you do, but—” He stumbled awkwardly to his feet. “If you don’t mind, Adrien, I think I’d like to get home.”
They didn’t talk much on the journey home. They were held up by a bicycle race, and afterward they found themselves part of the procession of gaily decorated cars and vans following the competitors. Trade s men adverti s ed their wares through loudspeakers, and threw out pink, blue and yellow pamphlets from the vans. All the householders and their children had come out to watch. Everybody was happy and smiling.
Nicholas gritted his teeth, curbing his impatience.
They got home at last. They were surprised to see Dr. Dubois on the threshold, talking to Dr. Lerouge and Jeanne. He was not expected, because he had said he
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