Jean Jacques got up slowly and looked at him as though scarce
understanding where he was.
"The child--the child--where is my Zoe's child? Where is Zoe's Zoe?" he
asked in agitation. His whole body seemed to palpitate. His eyes were all
red fire.
CHAPTER XXV
WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE?
The Young Doctor did not answer Jean Jacques at once. As he looked at
this wayworn fugitive he knew that another, and perhaps the final crisis
of his life, was come to Jean Jacques Barbille, and the human pity in him
shrank from the possible end to it all. It was an old-world figure this,
with the face of a peasant troubadour and the carriage of an
aboriginal--or an aristocrat. Indeed, the ruin, the lonely wandering
which had been Jean Jacques' portion, had given him that dignity which
often comes to those who defy destiny and the blows of angry fate. Once
there had been in his carriage something jaunty. This was merely life and
energy and a little vain confidence; now there was the look of courage
which awaits the worst the world can do. The life which, according to the
world's logic, should have made Jean Jacques a miserable figure, an
ill-nourished vagabond, had given him a physical grace never before
possessed by him. The face, however, showed the ravages which loss and
sorrow had made. It was lined and shadowed with dark reflection, yet the
forehead had a strange smoothness and serenity little in accord with the
rest of the countenance.
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