The Raven (Le Corbeau) (Le Corbeau)

THE RAVEN

A SMALL TOWN, HERE OR ELSEWHERE...

- The mother's saved. - And the baby?

My God, Doctor, you didn't.

I did. In all good conscience.

If you want a grandson,

in six or eight months, your son-in-law can try again.

- He had enough trouble this time. - A neighbor can help.

Don't cry. You have your daughter. That's what matters.

- Hurry. It's visiting hours. - I'm done.

- Stop your moaning. - I can't get up.

Then lie back down.

Don't get yourself worked up.

- She's a mean woman. - She's my sister.

Sorry. She's a mean sister, then.

She's just unhappy. She's always been unhappy.

Read this tonight.

Aren't you Dr. Vorzet's wife?

- He works here, right? - He runs the psychiatric ward.

- Can he get my bed switched? - Your bed?

The bed number is bad luck.

If I stay here, I know something bad will happen.

Don't be silly.

You have a visitor.

- Hello, François. - Hello, Mama.

I brought your razor.

Why so mean to patients?

- Why so nice to Dr. Germain? - What?

You come here too often. I'll tell Michel when he gets back.

- My husband approves. - Well, your sister doesn't.

- I'm a social worker. - You're a little tart.

Hello, Doctor.

Well?

I saved the mother.

- Again? - Why "again"?

It's the third in six weeks.

If you don't trust me, don't call on me.

I won't impose on you again.

Now, now.

Always squabbling.

Judge for yourself...

Spare me. I have enough trouble with my wife.

Madame Delorme again?

She's a cow.

Fortunately, I still have my pipe. And liquor, of course.

Come see a gangrene case that's quite a sight.

The tibia's sticking out. It's almost a joke.

Sorry, I never was one for jokes.

Then it's for Dr. Bertrand's eyes only.

- You'll regret it. - No doubt I will.

You'll see, my good man. It's priceless!

Some nerve! Give me that.

You leave letters in your coat. You want them sterilized?

You don't have to read them, though.

You write to my sister.

You're not her keeper.

Laura's a real viper.

Hospital talk: Bed 13 can't sleep.

The liver cancer patient? He won't last two weeks.

- He's not on morphine? - He had some the first day.

- Keep him on it. - He doesn't notice the difference.

The pharmacy is out of morphine.

I don't know if you use or sell it, but I want it back.

-Listen, Doctor - -By tomorrow morning!

- Didn't you eat lunch? - Sure, I did, sir.

- Then what's that? - A snack.

Excuse me, Doctor.

I have someone sick.

- Rolande? - No, my sister.

Could you stop by her room on your way up?

- Would you mind? - I'm a doctor.

Say, you! Want your ears boxed?

Can't you be careful, Fernand?

They're kids.

- Don't like children? - Not much.

- And you room at a schoolmaster's? - It's my bad luck.

So, Rolande, playing the concierge?

I just happened to be near the door and I saw you coming.

Your aunt's ill?

Denise?

Apparently.

You got a letter this morning.

I left it on your desk.

Come in.

Don't. The air does me good.

It's not for you. It's for me.

Their shrieking gets on my nerves.

- You wearing perfume? - You don't like it?

I should've left the window open.

- Where does it hurt? - All over.

I have a cough and fever, and I feel tired and stiff.

I have a pain in the back. Upper left side.

Here?

Or here?

Well...

In between, maybe?

- Maybe. - Undress. I'll examine you.

Just your sweater.

Breathe in.

Cough.

Again.

Say "ah."

Not so loud.

Lie down.

- Got a hankie? - Isn't my nightgown enough?

I'll use mine.

Breathe in.

Again.

Breathe normally.

- Excuse me. - Come in.

I brought fashion magazines.

You can stay.

Leave me alone a moment with Miss Saillens.

Of course. I'm sorry.

Thirty seconds will do.

Do you know what I have?

Not a thing.

- I'm not sick? - You wanted to be examined.

For this kind of examination, you don't need a doctor.

Not my kind, anyway.

Joseph.

My name is Rėmy.

You can go in now.

Won't I tire her?

No risk of that.

There's no need to put on an act.

The magazines were an excuse to see you.

You need no excuse.

You think so?

You're wrong.

Maybe it was true before, but not now.

- And you're to blame. - I don't understand.

You're a very discreet friend, Doctor,

but you must have been saying things about me.

I have?

Like our arranging to meet in secret.

I'm accused of being your mistress.

By whom?

I received a poison-pen letter.

You realize I have to avoid you now.

YOU LECHER

STOP FOOLING AROUND WITH VORZET'S WIFE LAURA-THE-WHORE

BEWARE I SEE ALL AND WILL TELL ALL

THE RAVEN

Take the bags.

Have monsieur's trunk put in the yard.

I know of nothing more absurd than a doctors' convention,

except a psychiatrists' convention.

No one listens to the speaker, thank heavens.

If they did, there would be a storm of belly laughs.

Only an audience of patients would take it seriously.

The sole useful purpose for these gatherings

is to give provincial doctors the chance to cheat on their wives

with Parisian women.

As I'm too old for that, I came home.

What is it, Laura? You look worried.

- I told you about yesterday's letter. - Yes. What of it?

There's one for you today.

- Three sheets of stamps. - Three hundred francs.

What do you do, eat them?

They're for a charity organization.

Each sheet means a Chinese soul saved from paganism.

Faith, Miss Rolande. Faith shall redeem the world.

Hello, Rolande. Two stamps, please.

Gone!

In the blink of an eye.

I didn't know you were back.

An elderly husband mustn't leave his young wife alone too long.

- Was that meant for me? - Why you?

I meant it for her and for me.

Don't be angry. Here are your letters.

May I? I'm something of a graphologist.

Not a prankster?

Graphologist and prankster.

They're not mutually exclusive.

A peculiar personality.

Smart. Very smart, in fact.

A bit too much.

Sensuality.

Much too much sensuality.

But also a lack of flexibility and freedom.

You're not very tolerant, my friend.

You're a rock. A finely chiseled rock, but a rock, nonetheless.

It can't make you many friends.

I have neither friends nor enemies.

- Can you name one friend I have? - Well, I can name an enemy.

- Who? - Do you mind, Doctor?

Excuse me, but you're blocking the mailbox.

- Have a good trip, Michel? - Fine, thank you.

See you at the hospital.

You were saying, an enemy?

My wife received an anonymous letter.

She told you?

She hides nothing from me. My age, you know.

I received one myself this morning.

- On the same subject? - Yes, with further details.

It seems your relations with Laura left an embarrassing trace -

Take it easy.

Which, in my absence, you supposedly removed by surgical means.

Care for one?