physician, who had come from a distance in his carriage. Accustomed to such disappointments, he knew how to conceal his dissatisfaction.
“Were I in your place, mademoiselle, I should do precisely what you suggest,” he answered, “and should you think it unnecessary for me to call, I——”
“Oh! monsieur, on the contrary, I shall certainly expect you.”
“In that case, very well.” Thereupon he bowed and left the room.
But Mademoiselle Marguerite followed him on to the landing. “You know, monsieur,” she said, speaking rapidly in an undertone, “that I am not M. de Chalusse’s daughter. You may, therefore, tell me the truth. Is his condition hopeless?”
“Alarming—yes; hopeless—no.”
“But, monsieur, this terrible unconsciousness——”
“It usually follows such an attack as he has been the victim of. Still we may hope that the paralysis will gradually disappear, and the power of motion return after a time.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite was listening, pale, agitated, and embarrassed. It was evident that she had a question on her lips which she scarcely dared to ask. At last, however, summoning all her courage, she exclaimed: “And if M. de Chalusse should not recover, will he die without regaining consciousness—without being able to speak?”
“I am unable to say, mademoiselle—the count’s malady is one of those which set at naught all the hypotheses of science.”
She thanked him sadly, sent a servant to summon Madame Leon, and returned to the count’s room.
As for the doctor, he said to himself as he went downstairs, “What a strange girl! Is she afraid that the count will regain consciousness? or, on the contrary, does she wish him to speak? Is there any question of a will under all this? What else can it be? What is at stake?” His preoccupation was so intense that he almost forgot where he was going, and he paused on every step. It was not until the fresh air of the courtyard blew upon his face, reminding him of the realities of life, that the charlatanesque element in his nature regained the ascendency. “My friend,” he
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