Four Short Stories By Emile Zola eBook

Émile Gaboriau
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 771 pages of information about Four Short Stories By Emile Zola.

“This close weather is unhealthy,” resumed the doctor; “nothing is more trying than these early spring days.”

And then he moved away.  It was like my life departing.  Screams, sobs and insults were choking me, struggling in my convulsed throat, in which even my breath was arrested.  The wretch!  Turned into a mere machine by professional habits, he only came to a deathbed to accomplish a perfunctory formality; he knew nothing; his science was a lie, since he could not at a glance distinguish life from death—­and now he was going—­going!

“Good night, sir,” said Simoneau.

There came a moment’s silence; the doctor was probably bowing to Marguerite, who had turned while Mme Gabin was fastening the window.  He left the room, and I heard his footsteps descending the stairs.

It was all over; I was condemned.  My last hope had vanished with that man.  If I did not wake before eleven on the morrow I should be buried alive.  The horror of that thought was so great that I lost all consciousness of my surroundings—­’twas something like a fainting fit in death.  The last sound I heard was the clicking of the scissors handled by Mme Gabin and Dede.  The funeral vigil had begun; nobody spoke.

Marguerite had refused to retire to rest in the neighbor’s room.  She remained reclining in her armchair, with her beautiful face pale, her eyes closed and her long lashes wet with tears, while before her in the gloom Simoneau sat silently watching her.



I cannot describe my agony during the morning of the following day.  I remember it as a hideous dream in which my impressions were so ghastly and so confused that I could not formulate them.  The persistent yearning for a sudden awakening increased my torture, and as the hour for the funeral drew nearer my anguish became more poignant still.

It was only at daybreak that I had recovered a fuller consciousness of what was going on around me.  The creaking of hinges startled me out of my stupor.  Mme Gabin had just opened the window.  It must have been about seven o’clock, for I heard the cries of hawkers in the street, the shrill voice of a girl offering groundsel and the hoarse voice of a man shouting “Carrots!” The clamorous awakening of Paris pacified me at first.  I could not believe that I should be laid under the sod in the midst of so much life; and, besides, a sudden thought helped to calm me.  It had just occurred to me that I had witnessed a case similar to my own when I was employed at the hospital of Guerande.  A man had been sleeping twenty-eight hours, the doctors hesitating in presence of his apparent lifelessness, when suddenly he had sat up in bed and was almost at once able to rise.  I myself had already been asleep for some twenty-five hours; if I awoke at ten I should still be in time.

I endeavored to ascertain who was in the room and what was going on there.  Dede must have been playing on the landing, for once when the door opened I heard her shrill childish laughter outside.  Simoneau must have retired, for nothing indicated his presence.  Mme Gabin’s slipshod tread was still audible over the floor.  At last she spoke.

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Four Short Stories By Emile Zola from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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