The Counts Millions | Page 5

in her surprise she cast a hasty glance around. From where she stood, she could not see the bed stationed in an alcove; but she instantly noted the dejected attitude of the servants, the clothing scattered about the floor, and the disorder that pervaded this magnificent but severely furnished chamber, which was only lighted by the lamp which M. Bourigeau, the concierge, carried. A sudden dread seized her; she shuddered, and in a faltering voice she added: "Why are you all here? Speak, tell me what has happened."
M. Casimir stepped forward. "A great misfortune, mademoiselle, a terrible misfortune. The count----"
And he paused, frightened by what he was about to say.
But Mademoiselle Marguerite had understood him. She clasped both hands to her heart, as if she had received a fatal wound, and uttered the single word: "Lost!"
The next moment she turned as pale as death, her head drooped, her eyes closed, and she staggered as if about to fall. Two maids sprang forward to support her, but she gently repulsed them, murmuring, "Thanks! thanks! I am strong now."
She was, in fact, sufficiently strong to conquer her weakness. She summoned all her resolution, and, paler than a statue, with set teeth and dry, glittering eyes, she approached the alcove. She stood there for a moment perfectly motionless, murmuring a few unintelligible words; but at last, crushed by her sorrow, she sank upon her knees beside the bed, buried her face in the counterpane and wept.
Deeply moved by the sight of this despair, the servants held their breath, wondering how it would all end. It ended suddenly. The girl sprang from her knees, as if a gleam of hope had darted through her heart. "A physician!" she said, eagerly.
"I have sent for one, mademoiselle," replied M. Casimir. And hearing a voice and a sound of footsteps on the staircase, he added: "And fortunately, here he comes."
The doctor entered. He was a young man, although his head was almost quite bald. He was short, very thin, clean-shaven, and clad in black from head to foot. Without a word, without a bow, he walked straight to the bedside, lifted the unconscious man's eyelids, felt his pulse, and uncovered his chest, applying his ear to it. "This is a serious case," he said at the close of his examination.
Mademoiselle Marguerite, who had followed his movements with the most poignant anxiety, could not repress a sob. "But all hope is not lost, is it, monsieur?" she asked in a beseeching voice, with hands clasped in passionate entreaty. "You will save him, will you not--you will save him?"
"One may always hope for the best."
This was the doctor's only answer. He had drawn his case of instruments from his pocket, and was testing the points of his lancets on the tip of his finger. When he had found one to his liking: "I must ask you, mademoiselle," said he, "to order these women to retire, and to retire yourself. The men will remain to assist me, if I require help."
She obeyed submissively, but instead of returning to her own room, she remained in the hall, seating herself upon the lower step of the staircase near the door, counting the seconds, and drawing a thousand conjectures from the slightest sound.
Meanwhile, inside the room, the physician was proceeding slowly, not from temperament however, but from principle. Dr. Jodon--for such was his name--was an ambitious man who played a part. Educated by a "prince of science," more celebrated for the money he gained than for the cures he effected, he copied his master's method, his gestures, and even the inflections of his voice. By casting in people's eyes the same powder as his teacher had employed, he hoped to obtain the same results: a large practice and an immense fortune. In his secret heart he was by no means disconcerted by his patient's condition; on the contrary, he did not consider the count's state nearly as precarious as it really was.
But bleeding and cupping alike failed to bring the sick man to consciousness. He remained speechless and motionless; the only result obtained, was that his breathing became a trifle easier. Finding his endeavors fruitless, the doctor at last declared that all immediate remedies were exhausted, that "the women" might be allowed to return, and that nothing now remained but to wait for the effect of the remedies he was about to prescribe, and which they must procure from the nearest chemist.
Any other man would have been touched by the agony of entreaty contained in the glance that Mademoiselle Marguerite cast upon the physician as she returned into the room; but it did not affect him in the least. He calmly said, "I cannot give my decision as yet."
"My God!" murmured the unhappy girl; "oh, my God, have mercy upon me!"
But the doctor,