The Moon and Sixpence

Chapter XXXVI
T
HE
NEXT
WEEK
was dreadful. Stroeve went twice
a day to the hospital to enquire after his wife,
who still declined to see him; and came away at
first relieved and hopeful because he was told
that she seemed to be growing better, and then
in despair because, the complication which the
doctor had feared having ensued, recovery was
impossible. The nurse was pitiful to his distress,
but she had little to say that could console him.
The poor woman lay quite still, refusing to speak,
with her eyes intent, as though she watched for
the coming of death. It could now be only the
question of a day or two; and when, late one
evening, Stroeve came to see me I knew it was
to tell me she was dead. He was absolutely ex-
hausted. His volubility had left him at last, and
he sank down wearily on my sofa. I felt that no
words of condolence availed, and I let him lie
there quietly. I feared he would think it heart-

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The Moon and Sixpence
less if I read, so I sat by the window, smoking a
pipe, till he felt inclined to speak.
“ You’ve been very kind to me,” he said at last.
“Everyone’s been very kind.”
“Nonsense,” I said, a little embarrassed.
“At the hospital they told me I might wait. They
gave me a chair, and I sat outside the door. When
she became unconscious they said I might go in.
Her mouth and chin were all burnt by the acid.
It was awful to see her lovely skin all wounded.
She died very peacefully, so that I didn’t know
she was dead till the sister told me.”
He was too tired to weep. He lay on his back
limply, as though all the strength had gone out
of his limbs, and presently I saw that he had
fallen asleep. It was the first natural sleep he
had had for a week. Nature, sometimes so cruel,
is sometimes merciful. I covered him and turned
down the light. In the morning when I awoke he
was still asleep. He had not moved. His gold-
rimmed spectacles were still on his nose.