"There can be no pleasure in nursing," reiterated he. "It might be very
pleasant to be nursed--by any one who is beautiful--if one did not need
the nursing!"
Cornelia was becoming so accustomed to Bressant's undisguised manners
that she forgot to be disturbed by this guileless compliment. Many hours
afterward, when she was alone in her chamber, the words recurred to her,
devoid of the version his manner had given them, and then they brought
the blood gently to her cheeks.
"You're very foolish," said she, as she poured out some tea, and cut up
a mutton-chop into mouthfuls. "Now, you have to drink this tea, though
you wouldn't the last time I poured you out a cup; and I'll give you
your chop. Open your mouth."
So the athlete of the day before was obliged to submit to having his
tea-cup carried to his lips and tipped for him by a woman, and the chop
administered bit by bit on a fork. It was very degrading; but once in a
while Cornelia accidentally touched him, or her face, lit up by interest
in her occupation, came so near his own that he felt warm and thrilled,
and went near to admit it was worth all the broken bones in the world,
and the sacrifice of pride accompanying them.
Ere breakfast was over, Professor Valeyon entered with his slippers, his
pipe, and a remarkably benevolent expression for one of such impending
eyebrows.
"Well, my boy," said he--ever since the accident he had addressed
Bressant thus--"you look in a better humor with yourself this morning.
You'll be well used to this room before you leave it," he continued,
with kindly gravity, as he felt his patient's pulse. "You'll know all
about the number and relative position of the bars and bunches of
flowers on the wall-paper opposite, and how many feet and inches it is
from the window-frame to the room-corner, and which pane of glass is the
crookedest, and how much higher one post of your bedstead is than the
other; and plenty more things of that kind. And, to tell you the truth,
my boy, I don't believe a course of such studies, by way of variety,
will do you any harm. Now, let's look at this collar-bone of yours.--O
Cornelia! you'd better be finishing your packing, hadn't you?" he added,
to his daughter, who was leaning on the back of his chair, sympathizing
with the sick man to her heart's content. She walked obediently to the
door, but, before she disappeared, turned and sent back a smile charged
with all the warmth of her ardent, womanly nature. Bressant got the
whole benefit of it; and it lingered with him most of the morning.
"How long must I be here?" inquired he, after Cornelia was gone.