:A/N: Dear readers, here I am back after a week full of work and no breath to write at all. I hope I can somehow make it up to you.
This chapter is somehow short, I know, I know – but it's meant to be short. Enjoy!
:Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, its characters or the main idea.
:Claimer: I think you're clever enough to determine which caracters are mine and which aren't.
:Beta-reader: Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, who will hopefully have less work to do since I am now a proud owner of an "Oxford's Advanced Learner's Dictionary". Yay for this one.
:Thanks to: L-M-V-T and Robika for reviewing chapter 18 and being faithful reviewers! Hooray for those two!
: Far Cry :
:Chapter 19 : Silence:
Meg leaned against the door to Madame's bedroom, trying hard to hear the doctor's voice. Nothing but dull noises reached her ears and she was thus left in distress. She had expected herself to cry endlessly and scream at everybody in her pain, but found herself unable to react in any way that showed her feelings. Pluckily, she swallowed her desperate anger and didn't talk much to anybody. What was to be said? Her mother hadn't eaten in days, had only set by the window and stared at the winter of Paris, one tear after the other rolling down her pale cheeks. Her élèves had to be taught by Monsieur Piaf. Meg had difficulties looking her mother in the eyes and seeing what she had always seen before. What she saw now was a lover who was left alone by every warmth of the world. 'Mother,' Meg had said, 'mother, please, what is it that hurts you so much? Is it about Monsieur Le Vicomte? I am sure he'll be found soon.' Madame had laughed. 'Yes, darling,' she had said in a low voice, 'my love will be found… he will…' And Meg had felt that her mother had lied to her to calm her down.
Suddenly, the door was pulled open and the doctor stepped into the hallway. Meg's heart stopped beating for a minute. "What is it, doctor? What is her illness?"
He gently closed the door behind him. "I cannot exactly tell you. There is nothing wrong with her body. All her organs should be fine. But it is her mental state that makes her suffer, and there is no medicine for that type of illness."
"But – you must be able to do something! She cannot live on like that forever! She doesn't even eat!"
"I know, I know. All we can do is support her as well as we can. I cannot assure you that your mother will get better. There is no reason to lie to you, Mademoiselle. Your mother is very ill, and if you don't find a way to help her very soon, …"
"I understand." Meg felt her muscles stiffen. "Thank you."
"If you need me, call for me." He put his hat back on, turned around and left. Meg listened to his steps for a while, then turned to the door. Did she want to go back inside and see her mother suffering? Had the doctor told her anything?
After some moments, she saw her shaking hand opening the door. The room was bathed in sunlight and she stepped inside. On the bed, there was Madame lying, wrapped in thick blankets to keep her warm. Her face was pale and she was staring at a point on the opposite wall, not moving at all.
"Mother," Meg said, closed the door and stepped to her bed. "How are you feeling?"
She didn't react. Meg repeated her words, kneeling down, and took her hand. "Mother, please…"
"I am perfectly fine," Madame said, "it is just that I feel weak. I cannot concentrate on anything."
"I know," Meg said, carressing her mother's hand, "but you will be fine. You should eat something, and the doctor agrees that you will get better if you eat more."
Madame looked at her daughter. "Oh really?", she asked in a dry voice, "will I?"
Meg turned to the bedside table to cut some potatoes into pieces. Madame watched her moolily. Then, Meg placed the plate and a fork on Madame's lap. "Please, eat. If you want some flesh, I can go down to the kitchen and have some made for you."
"No, that is not necessary. Could you leave, please? I want to be alone."
Meg hesitated, tears rolling down her face. "Mother, please eat."
"Leave, darling. Leave." And so, Meg left.
