Madame Barbara by Helen Forrester

Author:Helen Forrester [Helen Forrester]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780007387786
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 1999-04-12T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-three

Madame Benion passed her landlady’s sitting-room door. She could hear the hum of voices, but could not discern what was being said. She longed to enter.

With a heavy heart, she stood for a moment and then reluctantly decided that it was better to leave the priest uninterrupted.

She continued slowly up the staircase and entered her own room, lit by a single candle stuck in a bottle. For once the room smelled pleasantly of real coffee. Dear, kind Madame Blanc had, from her own secret store of beans, insisted on making coffee for both Anatole and his mother.

‘Who was it, Maman?’ whispered Anatole, as she went to sit on the edge of his bed.

She explained the visit.

‘He wants Michel to pick him up at six o’clock tomorrow morning!’ She looked glumly at the invalid. ‘I doubt he will be able to do it, do you?’ Then she shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what to say. In the end I told him he would. What else could I do?’

‘He may be able to, Maman. Michel’s trying to do too much, that’s all. He’s exceptionally exhausted. And Father Nicolas is a great old man – he may be able to sort him out.’

He turned his head to smile at his worried mother, and then went on, ‘After I’d talked to Father Nicolas a few times myself – you remember, when I returned home – I was relieved in my mind. I saw things clearly. He is able to divide the important from the unimportant. He gave me faith – and that helps me to endure what I have to endure – and things to rejoice about. He pointed out that I have a loving mother and brother to care for me!’ He laughed weakly. ‘He couldn’t heal my lungs, however – though he’s been a good friend to me ever since, hasn’t he?’

His mother smiled back at him, and said more cheerfully, ‘Yes. He’s been a good friend. He has, I believe, great experience – and great faith himself.’

‘That’s something we all have to have, Maman. How else do we get through?’

She took his long bony hand and held it as if she never wanted to let it go. There was a break in her voice, as she agreed with him. What else was there?

The door was open, and they heard a murmur of voices. Footsteps went slowly down the staircase. Maman rose from her seat on the bed, and went to the door to listen. ‘Michel is seeing Father Nicolas out,’ she told Anatole.

She stood in the doorway, to wait until Michel came slowly up the stairs. In one hand he held carefully a glass of Calvados.

His first words were, ‘He made me take his glass and told me to drink it before I go to bed. To make me sleep.’

He came slowly into the room, balancing the glass with care. He said cautiously, ‘The glass I had has gone to my head – it was the best I’ve tasted in years.’ He actually smiled at his mother.

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