The Man-Wolf and Other Tales | Page 9

and then, a good bottle of Johannisberg. That is the best wine to
set a man up again."
"Time was," remarked the master of the hounds in a dismal
voice--"time was when monseigneur hunted twice a week; then he was
well; when he left off hunting, then he fell ill."
"Of course it could not be otherwise," observed Marie Lagoutte. "The

open air gives you an appetite. The doctor had better order him to hunt
three times a week to make up for lost time."
"Two would be enough," replied the man of dogs with the same gravity;
"quite enough. The hounds must have their rest. Dogs have just as
much right to rest as we have."
There was a few moments' silence, during which I could hear the wind
beating against the window-panes, and rush, sighing and wailing,
through the loopholes into the towers.
Sébalt sat with legs across, and his elbow resting on his knee, gazing
into the fire with unspeakable dolefulness. Marie Lagoutte, after having
refreshed herself with a fresh pinch, was settling her snuff into shape in
its box, while I sat thinking on the strange habit people indulge in of
pressing their advice upon those who don't want it.
At this moment the major-domo rose.
"Will you have a glass of wine, doctor?" said he, leaning over the back
of my arm-chair.
"Thank you, but I never drink before seeing a patient."
"What! not even one little glass?"
"Not the smallest glass you could offer me."
He opened his eyes wide and looked with astonishment at his wife.
"The doctor is right," she said. "I am quite of his opinion. I prefer to
drink with my meat, and to take a glass of cognac afterwards. That is
what the ladies do in France. Cognac is more fashionable than
kirschwasser!"
Marie Lagoutte had hardly finished with her dissertation when Sperver
opened the door quietly and beckoned me to follow him.
I bowed to the "honourable company," and as I was entering the

passage I could hear that lady saying to her husband--
"That is a nice young man. He would have made a good-looking
soldier."
Sperver looked uneasy, but said nothing. I was full of my own
thoughts.
A few steps under the darkling vaults of Nideck completely effaced
from my memory the queer figures of Tobias and Marie Lagoutte, poor
harmless creatures, existing like bats under the mighty wing of the
vulture.
Soon Gideon brought me into a sumptuous apartment hung with
violet-coloured velvet, relieved with gold. A bronze lamp stood in a
corner, its brightness toned down by a globe of ground crystal; thick
carpets, soft as the turf on the hills, made our steps noiseless. It seemed
a fit abode for silence and meditation.
On entering Sperver lifted the heavy draperies which fell around an
ogee window. I observed him straining his eyes to discover something
in the darkened distance; he was trying to make out whether the witch
still lay there crouching down upon the snow in the midst of the plain;
but he could see nothing, for there was deep darkness over all.
But I had gone on a few steps, and came in sight, by the faint rays of
the lamp, of a pale, delicate figure seated in a Gothic chair not far from
the sick man. It was Odile of Nideck. Her long black silk dress, her
gentle expression of calm self-devotion and complete resignation, the
ideal angel-like cast of her sweet features, recalled to one's mind those
mysterious creations of the pencil in the Middle Ages when painting
was pursued as a true art, but which modern imitators have found
themselves obliged to give up in despair, while at the same time they
never can forget them.
I cannot say what thoughts passed rapidly through my mind at the sight
of this fair creature, but certainly much of devotion mingled with my
sentiments. A sense of music and harmony swept sadly through by soul,

with faint impressions of the old ballads of my childhood--of those
pious songs with which the kind nurses of the Black Forest rock to
peaceful sleep our infant sorrows.
At my approach Odile rose.
"You are very welcome, monsieur le docteur," she said with touching
kindness and simplicity; then, pointing with her finger to a recess
where lay the count, she added, "There is my father."
I bowed respectfully and without answering, for I felt deeply affected,
and drew near to my patient.
Sperver, standing at the head of the bed, held up the lamp with one
hand, holding his far cap in the other. Odile stood at my left hand. The
light, softened by the subdued light of the globe of ground crystal, fell
softly on the face of the count.
At once I was struck