University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
A GROUP ON THE HIGHWAY. A NEW STUDY FOR THE PAINTER.

It is not yet known how long the father and son lay in this condition
before they received assistance. They were first discovered
by the coachman of Madame Agnes-Therese Girardin, as he drove
that lady and her grand-daughter slowly home from the ball.

“Wha' dis yer?” quoth Antony, the coachman. “I see somet'ing
in de road.”

“What do you see, Antony?” demanded the lady.

“I yer somebody da grunt,” quoth Tony. “He's a pusson—
(person)—he's a man for certain.”

“A man in the road, groaning!” said the old lady. “Peter!
Peter!”—to the boy riding behind. Antony drew up his horses at
a full stop. Peter jumped down and came forward.

“Take one of the lamps, Peter, and see who is lying in the
road.”

The urchin moved promptly, and, hurrying forward, stooped
over one of the victims, holding the light close to his face. He
came back instantly.

“Its Mass Ned Bullimer, missis.”

“Mr. Edward Bulmer!” said the ancient lady, and she hemmed
thrice and began violently to agitate—her fan.

“Edward!—Edward Bulmer!” cried the young lady, almost

with a scream, beginning violently to agitate—herself. “Oh! mamma,
let us get out and see. He is hurt. He is killed.”

“No, Miss Paula, he aint dead yet,—he da grunt.” This was
meant to be consolatory.

“Be quiet, Paula, my child; do not excite yourself—we will
see—we will inquire. But—”

“Open the door, Peter!” cried Paula, with an energy and resolution
which she did not ordinarily exhibit, and of which the old
lady did not altogether approve, though the occasion was one
which did not allow of any deliberation. Peter, meanwhile, opened
the door of the carriage, and the young lady darted out.

“Stay, Paula, stay, till I get my cologne, and—”

But the damsel was off, and a bound brought her to the side of
her lover, stretched out partly upon the road, his shoulder resting
against a pine sapling. She knelt beside him, called to him with
the tenderest accents, and was answered by a groan. These groans
were signs of returning consciousness, at once to suffering and life.
Meanwhile, the good grandmother had hobbled out, and approached
the scene of action; a bottle of cologne water in one hand and her
vinaigrette in the other.

“Rub his head, my daughter, and sprinkle him with cologne;
hold this vinaigrette to his nostrils, and tell him to snuff.”

Another groan, and then the maiden heard him in faint accents
say—“My father—see—my father.”

“His father! Oh! Major Bulmer,” quoth the old lady. “Yes,
they went away together.`'

“In de buggy, missis,” interposed the knowing Peter. He himself
had opened the gate for the buggy, and had received a shilling
for his attentions.

“Look for him, Peter,” said the old lady—and she muttered to
herself, as if to justify her humanity, “He is one of God's creatures,
at least; it is our Christian duty only.” And with these
words she followed Peter in his search.

The Major was found in the fence corner, lying partly across one
of the stakes, which his weight had broken, his head striking
against a rail. The old lady was quite terrified when she beheld
him. His head had been cut, an ugly gash, ranging from the
upper part of one ear to the temples. He was still bleeding freely.
Antony was immediately summoned to bring the other lamp of
the carriage, while Peter was made to mount one of the horses,
in order to ride back for Dr. Porcher, who was at the party, and
who, it was hoped, might be still found there. Madame Agnes-Therese,
in the meanwhile, to her credit be it said, forgetting old
prejudices and antipathies, forgetting all forms and restraints, and
stiffnesses and formalities, kneeling beside the insensible Major,
proceeded to staunch the blood and close the wound. She had
lived a long time in the world, and had acquired much of that
household practical knowledge and dexterity which enables one
to be useful in almost any emergency. And she pursued her present
labour with a good deal of skill and success. The vinaigrette
and the cologne were passed from patient to patient, as they severally
seemed most to need it. Antony was despatched to the
branch, or brooklet, which they had passed only a few moments
before, to bring his carriage bucket full of water. The faces of
the two were sprinkled with water, cologne poured into their
mouths, and both seemed to revive about the same time. The
first words of the father were significant of quite a different feeling
from that which he exhibited during the unlucky drive.

“Ned, my dear boy; Ned, are you hurt?”

The old lady, holding the lamp up to his face, endeavoured to
press him down, in order to keep him quiet.

“Do not speak; do not agitate yourself, Major Bulmer; your
son is doing well. He is not much hurt—not much, I assure you—
I, Mrs. Girardin.”

“Heh!—you—Mrs. Gi—.”

He resolutely sate up, in spite of all her efforts, and stared her

in the face with a countenance in which surprise was so extreme
as almost to seem horror. Fancy the spectacle. Madame Girardin
holding the carriage lamp with one hand, kneeling on one knee,
and with the other hand striving to press the old gentleman backwards.
He, now sitting, his arms supporting him in the position,
with his hands resting on the ground; and staring with such
a face into her own. He had almost recovered his senses quite,
and astonishment had partly overcome his pain. It was at this
moment, and while the expression was still upon his visage, that
our carriage drew up to the scene of the accident. We necessarily
halted also, soon got out, and almost as soon learned all the
particulars. In a moment after, Dr. Porcher arrived, fortunately
having met Peter on the route, and proceeded to examine into the
condition of the sufferers.

The evil was not so serious as we had at first reason to apprehend.
The real sufferer was Ned Bulmer, whose left arm was
broken, and who was otherwise considerably bruized about the
body. The Major had an acre of bruizes, according to his own
phrase, over back and shoulders and sides. But, excepting the
ugly gash over his temple, there was nothing to disquiet him for
more than a week. But he had a narrow escape. The skull was
uninjured, but a little more obliquity in his fall would have crushed
it. As it was, the wound was really only skin deep; but it left
an ugly scar forever after, which, as a fine-looking man, who had
always been particularly well satisfied with his visage, occasioned
the proprietor many and frequent regrets.

But we must take our groups out of the highway. The arm
of Ned Bulmer was temporarily bandaged, and we lifted him into
the carriage with as much tenderness as possible. This carriage
was Madame Girardin's. The moment she discovered that each
of the wounded men would require two seats, she graciously accorded
the use of her vehicle. Of the two, she perhaps preferred
the son to the father as an inmate; but dear little Paula, clinging

to her lover tenaciously, disposed of the matter without leaving
any thing to the option of the grandmother; and, at her requisition,
as soon as Ned was fully restored to consciousness, the Doctor,
myself and Antony, lifted him in, not a little helped by Paula.
The same service rendered to the Major, and the Doctor led
the way in his own vehicle. We drove slowly, and day was
dawning as we entered the court. The patients were carefully
taken out, put to bed, and more methodically and scientifically
attended to. But before Madame Girardin departed, and as she
was preparing to do so, the Major begged to see her in his chamber.

“Mrs. Girardin, I am too feeble and sore to rise, but you will
believe me, as feeling very deeply and warmly your kindness and
the succour which you rendered to my son and myself.”

To which the old lady replied:—

“Major Bulmer, you will please believe that I am grateful to
God in permitting me to be of any help to any of his creatures.”

When she had departed, the Major said:—

“Well, I owe the old lady my gratitude. She has good stuff
in her, though she is of French stock.”

The old lady had her comment also, muttered to Paula as she
rode:—

“If Major Bulmer did not sometimes make himself so offensive
by his pride,—his Bull family pride,—he might yet be made a
gentleman.”

I must not omit to mention that, while the grandmother visited
the father, the grand-daughter visited the son; but what was said
between the two latter, has never, that I know of, been reported to
any third person.