[Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7] [Main Index]
URL:
Combeferre was worried for Bernhard Legaladuc, leader of les Amis de L'ABC. He had sent Joly to trail Legaladuc back to his flat, just to make sure he was all right.
The raven haired revolutionary had not been normal. In his passionate speeches, his cheeks were flushed when he started to call Bonaparte 'The Corsican Pig', 'The Trained Monkey', and 'The One with a Sore Head and Stomach'. He had cursed the Bourbons wholeheartedly, and put them down more effectively than any guillotine might have done.
Combeferre had checked to see if Legaladuc was drunk when he said these speeches, if he had picked up habits from Grantaire, but it was not so. He was cursing wine as loudly as the Bourbons. Legaladuc had no fever or illness as far as he could tell.
So Joly was put with the task of following the rebel leader on earth to his flat. The first thing he noticed was that Legaladuc took an abrupt turn towards the poor houses. Legaladuc lived in some of the richer flats, much to his own chagrin. Just at the threshold of No. 37 of Rue D'Allile, Legaladuc passed out, his head hitting the step with a loud crack.
"Damn," Joly said candidly, and tried to revive Legaladuc.
After further questioning, it was found Legaladuc had lived at Rue D'Allile for a week now, and that he had suffered these fainting spells for a while. The landlady, a giant of a woman, carried Legaladuc as easily a kitten to his apartment.
"Poor, fragile man," the landlady cooed. "He must have a sweetheart, er something, to be so depressed."
"Depressed?" Now Joly was more than interested.
The landlady lowered her voice, as if Legaladuc could hear her and was not senseless on the straw mattress that was his bed.
"I be havin' to take the lock off his door, he's so bad."
"Has he tried to... kill himself?" Joly asked, feeling a leaden weight in his gut. It was bad enough when Jehan Prouvaire tried to kill himself on the seventeenth of every month, and the last thing they needed, when the Les Amis De L'ABC barely more than a small gathering at the Café Musain, was Legaladuc being suicidal too.
"I'm a fearin' for him. He's been stayin' up all night, reading about Robespierre and the guillotine and revolution and such, and he's been coughin' and..."
"Madame Serin." It was Legaladuc's voice, weak yet cold and accusing. "Have you called a doctor? I told you not to."
"... and he won't let me get a doctor." The landlady finished.
"It's just me, Legaladuc. Joly," the hypochondriac doctor said.
"That's just as bad." Legaladuc scowled, and sat up. "You may go, Madame Serin. I won't kill myself with company."
There was a hint of irony in his voice, but Madame Serin left quickly, as if leaving from an obligatory visit to a lunatic.
"Open your mouth, Legaladuc," Joly said, opening the kit he kept with him at all times in case of an emergency.
Legaladuc didn't oblige.
"Really, Legaladuc, this is childish." Joly was becoming impatient.
"I've already seen a doctor, Jolllly," Legaladuc said honestly. "I don't need my diagnosis to be repeated to me."
"What is it you have, then?"
Legaladuc didn't answer, just looked out the window, somehow ashamed that he had contracted any disease at all.
"You can tell me, Legaladuc, and maybe I can help."
"It can't be helped," Legaladuc said in a hollow voice. "I have consumption. Good-bye, Joly. I appreciate your concern."
Joly was in shock.
"Consumption? Are you sure?"
"That is what I said. Good-bye."
Legaladuc had officially finished talking. Joly knew there was no sense in trying to talk to him when he was in this short state, and left.
"Well?" Combeferre asked as Joly came into his apartment dejectedly. "What's wrong with Legaladuc? And what's wrong with you? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"
"Legaladuc is sick." Joly said. "And he lives on Rue D'Allile."
"Rue D'Allile! God! And he's sick? What with?"
Joly hesitated a second too long, and then said:
"Consumption."
Combeferre stared.
"You're joking, right?"
But the stricken look on Joly's face was enough to convince him that he would not joke of such things even in the slightest.
"And he never told us? And we never guessed?" Combeferre was incredulously horrified. "Well, this is a nightmare."
"I should have known. I've had lots of consumption cases," Joly said, depressed. "I might have been able to help."
"Will he survive to the barricades?" Combeferre asked.
"I don't know. The way he was, I'd say probably, but if it is the late stages, or if he's hiding how bad he really is, he could be at death's door."
Combeferre looked stricken.
"Les Amis can't go on without Legaladuc. I can't go on without Legaladuc," Combeferre muttered, going paler and paler. "I need to see him, put some sense into him. At least he shouldn't be living on Rue D'Allile."
Combeferre left in all haste to Rue D'Allile, and Madame Serin showed him in. Legaladuc was in the middle of a terrible coughing fit, and tried to stop when he saw Combeferre. Madame Serin left them quietly.
"'Ferre," He muttered when he was done, "Joly sent you, didn't he?"
"I came of my own accord," Combeferre said sadly. "How much longer do you have?"
"Not long..." Legaladuc gasped, and started to cough again. "Couple of days if I'm optimistic. Couple of hours if I'm not. Couple of minutes if I'm realistic."
"We can't go on without you, Legaladuc," Combeferre said, a tear trickling out of the corner of his right eye.
"Don't cry," Legaladuc scolded gently, and closed his eyes. "That's not what I want to see last," he whispered, opening them again.
Combeferre hugged Legaladuc. Legaladuc, surprised, relaxed and returned the embrace. Then, his hands went cold, and his eyes vacant. Combeferre laid the still warm body gently down on the bed, and said softly:
"Good-bye my friend."
Then he cried.