At midnight Dr. Adams made his last call for the day.
“He’s resting easily now and I think he’ll sleep through the night. Call me if you need me. And you’d better get a little sleep yourself or I’ll have two patients,” he advised Mimi as he left.
His words brought realization to Mimi that she was tired. She sent Mrs. Daquin to bed, telling her she would lock up the house and see that everything was attended to. She then tiptoed into Jean’s room and found him breathing gently, his face, with a smile upon it, turned towards the door.
When he called at seven the next morning Dr. Adams said that Jean had been dead about three hours. Mimi found on his face the same smile that had been there when she had seen him last. Mrs. Daquin came into the room weeping but for Mimi there were no tears. Death had come too suddenly upon her, its swift snatching away of her Jean had rendered her incapable of thought, of every emotion. She knelt by the bed, her head resting beside Jean’s, stunned, inarticulate. Dr. Adams tried to pull her away, telling her it would be better for her if she did not stay too long there.
“No, Doctor, I’m happier here. I’ve just a few more hours with Jean now. Leave me here alone, won’t you?”
He led the weeping Mrs. Daquin from the room and Mimi was alone with Jean. Jean dead? She couldn’t believe it was true. She touched his hand, stiffened, cold. It terrified her. How many times she might have held it, warm, pulsating, responsive.