.
Fragson explained everything about Alain’s career except why he had chosen to become an imitation Fragson. Did he even possess the ability to be original? She could never ask him. She could never let him know that she had heardFragson. Whatever had caused Alain to decide to live as a mere copy of one of the greatest entertainers in France was not for her to question. She could guess; she could imagine that perhaps it had been easier to get his first job that way and that, for some reason, he had never dared to stray from that first success, but she could never, never ask.
Eve’s heart broke for Alain, as she remembered how he had told her how he had invented the Fragson way of singing; her heart broke for herself as she remembered how she had believed him. Was it possible that had happened only five months ago? She felt ten years older. No wonder Vivianne had tried to keep her away from the Olympia. With her encyclopedic knowledge of the music hall, she had known all along.
Automatically, Eve took the elevator upstairs to her landing. Vivianne, hearing her return, poked her head out of her door and asked, “Well, did the walk help your headache, little one?”
“Not really, Vivianne, but I’ll get over it,” Eve said. “A headache can’t last forever.”
The wet month of November began to seem like the tropics as December settled over Paris. Only the displays in shop windows lent a touch of color and cheer to a city where crossing the street had become a polar ordeal. Never, people told each other, had it been so cold, so windy, so dismal, so downright disgusting
Everyone looked forward to Christmas as if it might bring a change in the meteorological factors that made Paris one of the least endurable cities in the world in bad weather. The fabled but always present sky pressed down on its low gray buildings with an almost personal vindictiveness that made wise Parisians keep their curtains drawn and their lamps lit from morning to nightfall.
Two days before Christmas, Alain caught the head cold that had raged throughout the Riviera troupe for several weeks. He went to the theater as usual that day and got through his tour de chant but, after struggling home on foot, he grew much sicker in a frighteningly short space of time. By morning he had such a high fever and was so weak that Eve, who had been up taking care of him all night, went acre the landing in her peignoir to ask Vivianne if she knew a doctor in the neighborhood.
“I swear by old Doctor Jammes. He’ll have him feeling better in no time. I’ll call him right away, little one, don’t worry. And you must telephone the Riviera to tell them that Alain won’t be coming to work for at least a week. These Christmas colds are notorious.”
Doctor Jammes examined Alain thoroughly and shook his head. “Perhaps the rest of the troupe had only head colds, Madame,” he said to Eve, “but I’m afraid that this has all the signs of a case of pneumonia. He must be taken to the hospital at once. You can’t care for him here by yourself.”
At the word pneumonia, Eve was overcome by fear. How often had her father lost patients with mere liver problems to the dreaded pneumonia, for which there was nothing to do but cupping, and then pray that the patient had enough strength to live through the disease?
“Now, now, don’t get upset yourself, that won’t help, you know,” Doctor Jammes said hastily at the sight of her face. “You must be sure to eat properly and keep up your own forces. This young man,” he added, looking at Alain, “has been overdoing it, I’ll wager. He’s too thin by far. Yes, when he’s over this, he must start to take better care of himself. Ah, that’s what I always tell my patients, but do they take my advice? In any case, Madame, I’ll make the necessary arrangements at once.”
Is … is the hospital very expensive, Doctor?” Eve forced herself to ask.
“Everyone complains that it is, Madame, but surely you have
Fragson explained everything about Alain’s career except why he had chosen to become an imitation Fragson. Did he even possess the ability to be original? She could never ask him. She could never let him know that she had heardFragson. Whatever had caused Alain to decide to live as a mere copy of one of the greatest entertainers in France was not for her to question. She could guess; she could imagine that perhaps it had been easier to get his first job that way and that, for some reason, he had never dared to stray from that first success, but she could never, never ask.
Eve’s heart broke for Alain, as she remembered how he had told her how he had invented the Fragson way of singing; her heart broke for herself as she remembered how she had believed him. Was it possible that had happened only five months ago? She felt ten years older. No wonder Vivianne had tried to keep her away from the Olympia. With her encyclopedic knowledge of the music hall, she had known all along.
Automatically, Eve took the elevator upstairs to her landing. Vivianne, hearing her return, poked her head out of her door and asked, “Well, did the walk help your headache, little one?”
“Not really, Vivianne, but I’ll get over it,” Eve said. “A headache can’t last forever.”
The wet month of November began to seem like the tropics as December settled over Paris. Only the displays in shop windows lent a touch of color and cheer to a city where crossing the street had become a polar ordeal. Never, people told each other, had it been so cold, so windy, so dismal, so downright disgusting
Everyone looked forward to Christmas as if it might bring a change in the meteorological factors that made Paris one of the least endurable cities in the world in bad weather. The fabled but always present sky pressed down on its low gray buildings with an almost personal vindictiveness that made wise Parisians keep their curtains drawn and their lamps lit from morning to nightfall.
Two days before Christmas, Alain caught the head cold that had raged throughout the Riviera troupe for several weeks. He went to the theater as usual that day and got through his tour de chant but, after struggling home on foot, he grew much sicker in a frighteningly short space of time. By morning he had such a high fever and was so weak that Eve, who had been up taking care of him all night, went acre the landing in her peignoir to ask Vivianne if she knew a doctor in the neighborhood.
“I swear by old Doctor Jammes. He’ll have him feeling better in no time. I’ll call him right away, little one, don’t worry. And you must telephone the Riviera to tell them that Alain won’t be coming to work for at least a week. These Christmas colds are notorious.”
Doctor Jammes examined Alain thoroughly and shook his head. “Perhaps the rest of the troupe had only head colds, Madame,” he said to Eve, “but I’m afraid that this has all the signs of a case of pneumonia. He must be taken to the hospital at once. You can’t care for him here by yourself.”
At the word pneumonia, Eve was overcome by fear. How often had her father lost patients with mere liver problems to the dreaded pneumonia, for which there was nothing to do but cupping, and then pray that the patient had enough strength to live through the disease?
“Now, now, don’t get upset yourself, that won’t help, you know,” Doctor Jammes said hastily at the sight of her face. “You must be sure to eat properly and keep up your own forces. This young man,” he added, looking at Alain, “has been overdoing it, I’ll wager. He’s too thin by far. Yes, when he’s over this, he must start to take better care of himself. Ah, that’s what I always tell my patients, but do they take my advice? In any case, Madame, I’ll make the necessary arrangements at once.”
Is … is the hospital very expensive, Doctor?” Eve forced herself to ask.
“Everyone complains that it is, Madame, but surely you have
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