IN SILENCE.

Northern Advocate, 18 February 1911, Page 3

IN SILENCE.

The policeman and the man in the

blouse leant over me and examined me. Then they seemingly exchanged a few words, and the policeman turned to me again, and appeared to say something three or four times. But to my ears he uttered no sound, and the commotion around me was weirdly noiseless. "I'm not hurt —no, I am not hurt,' I said, and my voice reverberated with # brassy buzz through my head. It whs strange, I thought, at the moment, hut then I Was weak at the shock. Only weak, for I could move my arms and legs without pain, though my head riched sorely.

The two men lifted me gently, and carried me to an open carriage, whose occupant had stopped it and got out. De Mouille was in the carriage. His lace was somewhat cut, and his arm teemed to have been injured. I smiled at him, and he smiled back with a reassuring nod, though pain was depicted on his compressed lips. The nan in the blouse came and sat beside me, and the gentleman, evidently the owner of the carriage, seated hhnfcflf beside De Mouille, and endeavoi - od to make him comfortable. Thy policeman mounted beside the coachman, and we were off. As we left the little crowd behind us I caught sight of the wrecked motor-car, which was enveloped in flames and steam.

Where was Linden? I asked myself Avtth anxiety. But I had no time to do • liberate much or to ask any questions, lor after a couple of minutes' rapid drive we pulled up at a big white building in the Avenue Friedland. I recognised -the place; it was the Hospital Beaujon.

We were quickly helped into the hospital, and brought to a large, bright, bare-looking room. Linden had been already taken there, and a surgeon ?.nd his assistants were just completing their ministrations to him as Vfr entered; and as he was lifted limp and

senseless and with bandaged head on to a wheeled stretcher and rolled out quietly by a porter accompanied by a nursing sister, I gave a shudder of t.'ar. But then I was given no opportunity of asking questions. The surgeon came over to me first, and looked at me closely and examined my limbs rapidly with his hand, asking soundless questions the time. I atioweved repeatedly that I could not hear —that r was stone deaf. When would my deafness wear off? With a quick gesture he pointed to a couch and turned away. I made to follow him, lepeating my question, but an assistant took my arm and led me to the couch, when I lay down and watched \he group as they attended to Da Mouille's arm. As the surgeon and his assistants set the arm and put it in splints—the limb was evidently brolen—there seemed to be a rapid con\ersation carried on among the group.

De Mouille, whose head wounds were only superficial, bore up well with his injured arm. He was apparently the object of many questions, and every now and then he nodded towards me. H was a curious thing that I could not hear the slightest sound. The first shock of the accident had passed --when would I recover my hearing? A sickening dread crept over me, but 1 tried to put it away.

Then the surgeon came to me again and spoke to inc. I told him oncu more that I could not hear a sound My voice still buzzed huskily in my head as I spoke. I had grown frightened, panic-stricken. I poured a flood of rapid questions on him, but the surgeon put his arm on my shoulder, and then motioned me to stand up. Then lie spoke to me increasing his voice f.radually, I imagined. He put his i; : cc close to my ear, and appeared to shout. I could not hear a sound. I was becoming numb with fright. The ethers looked on with evident commiseration, while Da Mouille, who appeared to be questioning the surgeon, seemed startled and puzzled.

Next I was conducted behind a high screen in a corner of the room. The tdjacent windows were darkened, and the surgeon and the assistant examined my ears by gaslight with some curious instruments, I asking futile questions the while. Then the blinds were raised again, the gas turned down, the instruments put away, and I was conducted back to the group. My fright had grown into absolute terror. Still I could not believe in the reality of my affliction. I looked into Uie faqe of my surgeon wildly for some signs of hope as I asked— 'I am not permanently deaf surely? It is the shoek —it must be only that, for I feel very ill. I will recover my hearing in a few hours Is not that go?" The surgeon's face was expression'ess, 'It cannot be! It cannot be!' I said fiantically, and my voice reverberated through my head like the sounds <.-i a great brass instrument. I put

* y fingers in my ears. 'I am not toil red; there is no pain, the drums of my ears arc. not ruptured. I know I shall be right again in an hour or two —in day or so.' But there was no indication of a response; only a look c* passing pity on the surgeon's face.

'Am I deaf for ever!' I shrieked befcjde myself with terror, realising that possible truth. 'Oh, God, shall I never hear again? Never—never!'

The surgeon shrugged his shoulders pnd turned away.

I stepped towards him with a wild cry, but then the floor seemed to sway and the walls to dance around me, and I remembered the shock of falling.

After that there was a period of confused dreams, with alternating bluripd whiteness and darkness, and visions of vague forms. But quite suddenly everything resolved itself into a picture of a fairly large room, with walls distempered in pale green, and containing f .hre? white beds, beside the one I found myself lying" in. Linden was lying in one of the beds sleeping; De Mouille was seated in a chair by my bed. his arm in a sling. Tie was reading, but he raised his eye,.; to mine in a minuta and mot my gaze, then threw down the book and sotmerl to utter an exclamation of pleasure. Alas! I still heard no sound.

'If you speak, I cannot hear you,' I said, and my voice sounded In my head as it had done before. 'I have lvon ill, I suppose For how long? And what was the matter with me ? '

"With a rather shameful expiwsion Dp MouHio produced a nott? bo.v: an? pencil. He came close to me and spoke, but I shook my head, then he wrote in the note book: —

'You have been ill for four days; nothing bad, only the nerves. But how you raved, my brave Bruno! It is well γ-o one understands English but Linden, for he tells me you were

ing about murders, and mysteries, and lady-loves, and all sorts of curious secrets. But, hola! you will be well

now in a few hours.'

'And Linden?' I asked. 'As for you, you are looking quite robust.'

'Linden has nothing much the matter with him,' he wrote again. 'A few bumps on his strong head —and we thought he was killed! He is really staying here to be with you; he could f.;o away at any time. For me, I have enly this tiresome arm—the left one, iortunately—and it is coming on all right.. We have all had a marvellous escape.' 'I am strong, too,' I said, and I raised myself in my bed. My bo:iy felt Quite strong, but my head was giddy and I fell back. 'Be quiet, like a brave boy,' wrote Da Mouille. 'Yes, you will be quite veil very soon, but you must rest now.' I surrendered myself passively then, mid for many days afterwards. No impatience against fate could now mitigate my affliction, and, after all, it could have been worse. Terrible disfigurement or blindness—either would have been worse than death; to lose my hearing was, indeed, a sad trial, but it did not limit my usefulness or

capacity for my own work

We were comfortable, and received overy care and attention. We were in a private ward, to which we had been brought in the first instance at De Mouille's instigation. The room tad a pleasant outlook on the bright and busy Avenue Priedland, and in a couple of days from my return to consciousness I sat up at the windows with my companions and watched the vehicles and pedestrians, and enjoyed the sunlight and read. Fortunately, for me I was able to distract myself

v ith newspapers .magazines, and books, of which we got a good supply; for at first I sorely missed the .sound of voices, and conversation in writing \ was difficult and tiresome. Linden was making a most satisfactory and very rapid recovery, his injuries having been mostly superficial. He was full of remorse of having been the direct cause or" our mishap; but then I felt that I myself was more accountable for that, and that it was right I should be the most heavily punished. The loss of his motor car. which had, we were told, become a complete wreck, did not trouble him r.-uch.

Despite my resignation, I. took early steps to have my deafness thoroughly investigated. The staff of the hospital specially examined my case, and appeared to be slightly puzzled ovei it. They could not quite account for my total deafness, for they found no injury to the tympanum or the internal anatony of either ear. At first it had seemed self-evident that the explosion must have, be destroying the tympana, occasioned my affliction, otherwise the case puzzled them. At the surgeon's suggestion, I at once called in two eminent aural specialists, and requested each to give me his diagnosis and opinion in writing, and that was done. One surgeon wrote a highly technical diagnosis, at the end of which he frankly stated that he could rot immediately suggest any remedy, and would require to have the case under his treatment for a possibly protracted period in order to deal with it with any chance of success. The other gentleman—a very distinguished authority—wrote, on the contrary, a most terse report, in which he stated his opinion that the deafness was due, i-ot to any injury whatever to the ear, but to paralysis of the auditory nerves He thought the case was curious and believed that a cure was not impossible, that he could not suggest any method of treatment until some time I , ad passed without any return of hearing. According to him, the restoration of my hearing might happen at any time if the nerves were, as he thought they were, temporarily paralysed. That hope stimulated my fortitude.. At this time I kept my mind as free <is possible from the perplexities which lad recently so engrossed it. It was hard to refrain from falling into absorbed fits of thinking over thai Ptrange interview with Fred, which., although it seemed in some ways like

r. weird dream, was vividly rememerod word for word. It was difficult

to keep from mentally through it again and again, and regretting the many things I might have said and had not, and the strenuous efforts I should have made to wrest Fred's mys-

terious secret from him. But when I found myself coming to that point I checked my thoughts. 1 was futile to te torturing myself. I must discipline myself to be patient. Later on [ should communicate with Fred, and then I could renew my efforts to get t.t the key of his secret. At any rate, 1 could have much to do with him, i,nd he might do for poor Nellie's sake v^hat he would not do for mine. Meanwhile I did not trouble to write to him, ?nd it was quite unlikely that he had hoard of our accident, or he would have communicated with me in some way. De Mouille was getting anxious to leave the hospital. He need not have stayed as he did, but he would not lrave us. Lemaitre, Hausmann, and c'her friends had visited him, and 1 could see that he was anxious to be off on his intended tour, so I hastened

my own departure,

On the tenth day after my admittance I realised that I had quite re : covered from the shock of the accident, and was as well as I would be for •i long time to come. Then I wrote to Nellie, to whom I had written a truthful but reassuring little letter shortly after my recovery from the delirium, telling her now that I should return in a day or two, but would wire when

starting,

(To be continued.)