This last effort was followed by a mortal throe, and he fell back again stiff and lifeless; his eyes starting from their orbits, whilst fierce convulsions were visible on his features, unnaturally distorted; a bloody foam on his lips; his voice hoarse and strangling, like that of a person in hydrophobia, for, in its last paroxysm, this fearful malady shows the same symptoms as madness. The breath of this monster was extinguished in the midst of a final and horrible vision, for he stammered forth these words, "Black night! – black spectres! – skeletons of brass, red-hot with fire! Unfold me! Their burning fingers make my flesh smoke; my marrow is scorched! Fleshless, horrid spectre! No – no! Cecily – fire – flame – agony – Cecily!"
These were Jacques Ferrand's last words, and Rodolph left the place overcome with horror.
CHAPTER IV
THE HOSPITAL
It will be remembered that Fleur-de-Marie, saved by La Louve, had been conveyed not far from the Isle du Ravageur to the country-house of Doctor Griffon, one of the surgeons of the hospital, to whom we shall now introduce the reader. This learned doctor, who had obtained from high influence his position in the hospital, considered the wards as a kind of school of experiments, where he tried on the poor the remedies and applications which he afterwards used with his rich clients.
These terrible experiments were, indeed, a human sacrifice made on the altar of science; but Doctor Griffon did not think of that. In the eyes of this prince of science, as they say in our days, the hospital patients were only a matter of study and experiment; and as, after all, there resulted from his essays occasionally a useful fact or a discovery acquired by science, the doctor showed himself as ingenuously satisfied and triumphant as a general after a victory which has been costly in soldiers.
Nothing could be more melancholy than the sombre appearance of the vast ward of the hospital, into which we now introduce the reader. The length of its high, dark walls, pierced here and there with grated windows like those of a prison, was filled with two rows of beds parallel, and faintly lighted by the sepulchral glare of a lamp hanging from the ceiling. The atmosphere is so nauseous, so heavy, that the fresh patients frequently did not become accustomed to it without danger, and this increase of suffering is a sort of tax which every newcomer invariably pays for his miserable sojourn in the hospital. In one of the beds was the corpse of a patient who had just died.
Amongst the females who did not sleep, and who had been present whilst the priest performed the last rites with the dying woman, were three persons whose names have been already mentioned in this history, – Mlle. de Fermont, the daughter of the unfortunate widow ruined by the cupidity of Jacques Ferrand; La Lorraine, the poor laundress, to whom Fleur-de-Marie had formerly given the small sum of money she had left; and Jeanne Duport, the sister of Pique-Vinaigre.
La Lorraine was a woman about twenty, with mild and regular features, but extremely pale and thin; she was consumptive to the last degree, and there was no hope of saving her. She was aware of her condition, and was slowly dying.
"There is another gone!" said La Lorraine, in a faint voice, and speaking to herself. "She will suffer no more; she is very happy!"
"She is very happy if she has no children!" added Jeanne.
"Aren't you asleep, neighbour?" asked La Lorraine. "How are you after your first night here? Last night, when you came in, they made you go to bed directly, and I dared not speak to you, because I heard you sob so."
"Yes, I cried a good deal; but I went to sleep at last, and only awoke when the noise of the doors roused me; and when the priest and the sisters came in and knelt down; I saw it was some woman who was dying, and I said a Pater and Ave for her."
"And so did I; and, as I am ill with the same complaint as she had, I could not help crying out, 'There is one who suffers no more; she is very happy!'"
"Yes, as I said, if she has no children."
"Then you have children?"
"Three!" said Pique-Vinaigre's sister with a sigh. "And you?"
"I had a little girl, but I did not keep her long. The poor babe was injured before she was born, – and I was so wretched during my pregnancy! I am a washerwoman in the boats, and worked as long as I could. But everything has an end, and when my strength failed me, bread failed me also. They turned me out of my lodging; and I do not know what would have become of me if a poor woman had not taken me into a cellar, where she was hiding from her husband, who had sworn he would kill her. There I was brought to bed on the straw; but, thanks to goodness, the good woman knew a young girl as good and charitable as an angel from heaven. This young girl had a little money, and took me from the cellar, and put me in a furnished room, where she paid a month in advance, and gave me, besides, a wicker cradle for my baby, and forty francs, with a little linen besides. Thanks to her, I was enabled to resume my work."
"Kind girl! Well, and I, also, met by chance with such another, a young, hard-working sempstress. I was going to see my poor brother, who is a prisoner," said Jeanne, after a moment's hesitation, "and met this work-girl in the prison; and when she heard me tell my brother that I was not happy, she came to me and offered me all in her power, poor girl! I accepted her offer, and she gave me her address; and two days afterwards dear little Mlle. Rigolette – she is called Rigolette – sent me an order."
"Rigolette!" exclaimed Lorraine; "how strange! The young girl who was so generous to me often mentioned the name of Mlle. Rigolette in my hearing; they were great friends."
"Well, then," said Jeanne, smiling sadly, "since we are neighbours in bed, we should be friends like our two benefactresses."
"With all my heart! My name is Annette Gerbier, called La Lorraine, a washerwoman."
"And I am Jeanne Duport, a fringe-maker. Oh, it is so fortunate to find in this melancholy place some one not quite a stranger to you, especially when you come for the first time, and are very full of trouble. But don't let us talk of that! Tell me, Lorraine, what was the name of the young girl who was so kind to you?"
"She was called Goualeuse, and was exceedingly handsome, with light brown hair and blue eyes, so soft – oh, so soft! Unfortunately, in spite of her assistance, my poor babe died at two months old. It was so puny, it could hardly breathe!" and La Lorraine wiped a tear from her eye.
"And your husband?"
"I am not married. I washed by the day at a rich tradesman's in my country, and had always been prudent; but the master's son whispered his tales in my ear, and then – When I found in what a state I was, I dared not remain any longer in the country, and M. Jules gave me fifty francs to take me to Paris, assuring me that he would send me twenty francs every month for my lying-in; but since I left I have not had one sou, not even a message. I wrote to him once, but he sent me no answer; and I was afraid to write again, as I saw he did not wish to hear any more of me."
"At least he ought not to have forgotten you, if it was only for the sake of the child!"
"That was the reason; he was angry with me for being in the family way, because it embarrassed him. I regret my child for myself, but not on its own account, poor little darling! It must have been miserable, and have been an orphan very early, for I have not long to live."
"Oh, you ought not to have such ideas at your age. Have you been long ill?"
"Nearly three months. Why, when I had to work for myself and my child, I began too soon. The winter was very cold; I was attacked with a cold on my chest. I lost my child at this time, too; and nursing her, I neglected myself, and then my sorrow; so that I fell into a consumption – decided – like the actress who has just died."
"There's always hope at your age!"
"The actress was only two years older than I am."
"What, was she an actress who is just dead?"
"Yes. And see what fate is! She had been as beautiful as daylight, and had money, carriages, diamonds; but, unfortunately, the smallpox disfigured her, and then came want and misery, and, at last, death in a hospital. No one ever came to see her; and yet, four or five days ago, she told me, she had written to a gentleman whom she had formerly known in her gay days, and who had been much in love with her. She wrote to him to beg him to claim her dead body, because she was wretched at the idea of thinking she would be dissected – cut in pieces."
"And did the gentleman come?"
"No. Every moment she was asking for him and perpetually saying, 'Oh, he'll come! Oh, he'll be sure to come!' And yet she died without any one coming, and what she so much dreaded will befall her poor frame. After having been rich and happy, to die so is very terrible! We, at least, only change our miseries!"
"I wish," said Lorraine, after a moment's hesitation, "I wish you would render me a service!"
"What is it?"
"If I die, as is probable, before you go from here, will you claim my body? I have the same dread as the actress, and have laid aside the small sum of money necessary to bury me."
"Oh, do not have such ideas!"
"Still promise me, all the same!"
"But let us hope the case will not happen!"
"Yes; but if it does happen – thanks to you, I shall not have the same misery as the actress."
"Poor woman! After having been rich to come to such an end!"
"The actress is not the only one in this room who has been rich."
"Who else?"
"A young girl of about fifteen or so, brought here yesterday evening. She was so weak that they were obliged to support her. The sister said that the young lady and her mother were very reputable persons, who had been ruined."
"And is her mother here, too?"
"No, the mother was too ill to be moved. The poor girl would not leave, so they took advantage of her fainting to convey her. The proprietor of a wretched lodging-house, for fear they should die in his rooms, made the report at the police station. She is there – in the bed opposite you."
"And she is fifteen? The age of my eldest girl!" And Jeanne Duport wept bitterly.
"Pardon me," said La Lorraine, "if I have given you pain unconsciously in speaking of your children! Are they, too, ill?"
"Alas! I do not know. What will become of them if I remain here for a week?"
"And your husband?"
"As we are friends together, Lorraine, I will tell you my troubles, as you have told me yours, and that will comfort me. My husband was an excellent workman, but became dissipated, and forsook me and my children, after having sold everything we possessed. I went to work; some good souls aided me, and I began to get easy again, and was bringing up my little family as well as I could, when my husband returned with a vile creature, his mistress, and again stripped me of everything; and so I had to begin all over again."
"Poor Jeanne! You could not help it."
"I ought to have separated myself from him in law, – but, as my brother says, the law is too dear! I went to see my brother one day, and he gave me three francs, which he had collected amongst the prisoners on telling his tales. So I took courage, believing my husband would not return for a very long time, as he had taken all he could from us. But I was mistaken," added the poor creature, with a shudder; "there was my poor Catherine still to take!"
"Your daughter?"
"You will hear – you will hear! Three days ago, as I was at work with my children around me, my husband came in. I saw by his look that he had been drinking. 'I have come for Catherine,' says he. I took my daughter's arm, and I said to Duport, 'Where do you want to take her to?' 'What's that to you? She's my daughter. Let her make up her bundle and come along with me.' At these words my blood ran cold in my veins; for you must know, Lorraine, that that bad woman is still with my husband, and it makes me shudder all over to say it. But so it was; she had long been urging him to earn something by our daughter, who is young and pretty. 'Take away Catherine?' said I to Duport; 'Never! I know what that wicked woman would do with her.' 'I say,' said my husband, whose lips were white with rage, 'do not oppose me or I'll kill you!' and then he seized my daughter by the arm, saying, 'Come along, Catherine!' The poor child threw her arms around my neck, and burst into tears, exclaiming, 'I will stay with mother!' When he saw this, Duport became furious, tore my daughter from me, and hit me a blow in my stomach, which knocked me down; and when I was on the ground – he was very drunk, you may be sure – he trampled on me and hurt me dreadfully. My poor children begged for mercy on their knees, – Catherine, too; and then he said to her, swearing like a lunatic, 'If you will not come with me I'll do for your mother!' I was spitting blood; I felt half dead, and could not move an inch. But I cried to Catherine, 'Let him kill me first!' 'What, you won't be quiet?' said Duport, giving me another kick, which deprived me of all consciousness; and when I returned to myself, I found my two little boys crying bitterly."
"And your daughter?"
"Gone!" exclaimed the unhappy mother, with convulsive sobs. "Yes; gone. My other children told me that their father had beaten them and threatened to finish me. Then the poor girl was quite distracted and embraced me and her brothers, weeping dreadfully; and then my husband dragged her away. Ah, that bad woman was waiting for him on the stairs, I know!"
"And didn't you complain to the police?"
"At first I felt only grief at Catherine's departure; but I felt soon great pain in all my limbs, – I could not walk. Alas, what I had so long dreaded had happened! Yes, I told my brother that one day my husband would beat me so that I should be obliged to go to the hospital, – and then what would become of my children? And now here I am in the hospital, and what, indeed, will become of my children? The neighbours went for the commissary, who came. I didn't like to denounce Duport, but I was obliged, in consequence of my daughter; only I said that in our quarrel about our daughter he had pushed me, that it was nothing, but I wanted my daughter Catherine because I feared the bad woman with whom my husband lived would be the ruin of her."
"Well, and what did the commissary say?"
"Why, that my husband had a right to take away his daughter, as we were not separated; that it would be a misfortune if my daughter turned out badly from evil counsels, but that they were only suppositions, after all, and that was not sufficient for a complaint against my husband. 'You have but one way – plead in the courts, demand a separation – and then the beatings your husband has given you, his behaviour with a vile woman, will be in your favour, and they will force him to restore your daughter to you; but, otherwise, he has a right to keep her with him.' 'But how can I plead when I have my children to feed?' 'What can be done?' said the clerk; 'that's the only way!'" and poor Jeanne sobbed bitterly, adding, "And he is right – that is the only way! And so, in three months, my daughter may be walking the streets, whilst if I could plead and be separated it would not happen. Alas, poor Catherine, so gentle and so affectionate!"
"Oh, you have, indeed, a bitter sorrow; and yet I was complaining!" said La Lorraine, drying her eyes. "And your other children?"
"Why, on their account, I did all I could to bear the pains I was suffering, and not go to the hospital; but I could not go on. I vomited blood three or four times a day, and a fever took away the use of my arms and legs, and I was at last unable to work. If I am quickly cured I may return to my children, if they are not first dead from hunger or locked up as beggars. Who will maintain them whilst I am here?"
"Oh, it is very terrible! Have you no kind neighbours?"
"They are as poor as myself, and have five children already. It is very hard, but they promised to do a little something for them for a week; that is all they could do. And so, cured or not cured, I must go out in a week."
"But your friend, Mademoiselle Rigolette?"
"Unfortunately, she is in the country, and going to be married, the porter said. No, I must be cured in eight days; and I asked all the doctors who spoke to me yesterday, but they laughed as they replied, 'You must ask the principal surgeon.' When will he come, Lorraine?"
"Hush! I think I hear him now. And no one is allowed to speak during his visit," replied Lorraine, in a low voice.
The daylight had appeared during the conversation of the two women. A bustle announced the arrival of Doctor Griffon, who entered the room accompanied by his friend, the Comte de Saint-Remy, who took so warm an interest in Madame de Fermont and her daughter, but was very far from expecting to find the unfortunate young lady in the hospital. As he entered the ward, the cold and harsh features of Doctor Griffon seemed to expand. Casting around him a look of satisfaction and authority, he answered the obsequious reception of the sisters by a protecting nod. The coarse and austere countenance of the old Comte de Saint-Remy was imprinted with the deepest sorrow. His ineffective attempts to find any traces of Madame de Fermont, and the ignominious baseness of the vicomte, who had preferred a life of infamy to death, overwhelmed him with grief.
"Well," said Doctor Griffon to him, with an air of triumph, "what do you think of my hospital?"
"Really," replied M. de Saint-Remy, "I do not know why I yielded to your desire; nothing is more harrowing than the sight of rooms filled with sick persons. Since I entered, my feelings have been severely distressed."
"Bah, bah! In a quarter of an hour you will think no more of it. You, who are a philosopher, will find here ample matter for observation; and besides, it would have been a shame for you, one of my oldest friends, not to have known the theatre of my glory, my labours, and seen me at work. I take pride in my profession – is that wrong?"
"No, certainly; and after your excellent care of Fleur-de-Marie, whom you have saved, I could refuse you nothing."
"Well, have you ascertained anything as to the fate of Madame de Fermont and her daughter?"
"Nothing!" replied M. de Saint-Remy, with a sigh. "And my last hope is in Madame d'Harville, who takes such deep interest in these two unfortunates; she may find some traces of them. Madame d'Harville, I hear, is expected daily at her house; and I have written to her on the subject, begging her to reply as soon as possible."
During the conversation between M. de Saint-Remy and Doctor Griffon, several groups were formed gradually around a large table in the middle of the apartment, on which was a register in which the pupils of the hospital (who were to be recognised by their long white aprons) came in their turns to sign the attendance-sheet.
"You see, my dear Saint-Remy, that my staff is pretty considerable."
"It is indeed! But all these beds are occupied by women, and the presence of so many men must inspire them with painful confusion!"
"All these fine feelings must be left at the door, my dear Alcestis. Here we begin on the living those experiments and studies which we complete on the dead body in the amphitheatre."
"Doctor, you are one of the best and worthiest of men, and I owe you my life, and I recognise all your excellent qualities; but the practice and love of your art makes you take views of certain questions which are most revolting to me. I leave you. These are things which disgust and pain me; and I foresee that it would be a real punishment to me to be present at your visit. I will wait for you here at the table."
"What a strange person you are with these scruples! But I will not let you have quite your own way. So remain here till I come for you."
"Now, then, gentlemen," said Doctor Griffon; and he began his round, followed by his numerous auditory.
On reaching the first bed on the right hand, the curtains of which were closed, the sister said to the doctor:
"Sir, No. 1 died at half past four o'clock this morning."
"So late? It astonishes me. Yesterday morning I would not have given her the day through. Has her body been claimed?"
"No, sir."
"So much the better. It is a very fine one; we will not dissect it, but I will make a man happy." Then turning to one of the pupils, "My dear Dunoyer, you have long desired a subject; your name is down for the first, and it is yours."
"Oh, sir, you are too good."
"I am only desirous of rewarding your zeal, my dear fellow; but mark the subject – take possession; there are so many who covet it."
As the doctor passed onwards, the pupil, with his scalpel, incised very delicately an F. and D. (his initials) on the arm of the defunct actress, in order "to take possession," as the doctor termed it. And the round continued.
"Lorraine," said Jeanne Duport, in a low voice, to her neighbour, "who is all this crowd of people with the surgeon?"
"It is pupils and students."
"Oh, will all these young men look on whilst the doctor asks me questions and examines me?"
"Alas, yes!"
"But it is in my chest that I am ill; will they examine me before all these men?"
"Yes – yes – it must be so. I cried bitterly the first time, and thought I should have died of shame. I resisted, and they threatened to send me away, and that made me so ill. Only imagine, almost naked before everybody! It is very painful."
"Before the doctor alone I can easily comprehend it is necessary, and even that is a great deal to submit to; but why before all these young men?"
"They learn and practise on us; that is why we are here, – why they admit us into the hospital."
"Ah, I understand," said Jeanne Duport, with bitterness; "they give us nothing for nothing. Yet still there are times when even that could not be. Suppose my poor girl Catherine, who is only fifteen, were to come to the hospital, would they dare with her, before so many young men, to – Oh, no! I would rather see her die at home!"
"Oh, if she came here she must make up her mind to do as the others do, – as you and I. But hold your tongue; if the poor young lady in front hears you – they say she was rich, and, perhaps, has never left her mother before, – and yet her turn comes now. Only think how confused and distressed she will be."
"I shudder when I think of her! Poor child!"
"Hush, Jeanne! Here is the doctor!" said Lorraine.
After having quickly visited several patients who presented nothing remarkable in their cases, the doctor at last came to Jeanne. At the sight of this crowd coming around her bed, anxious to see and learn, the poor creature, overcome with fear and shame, pulled the bed-clothes tightly around her. The severe and meditative countenance of the doctor, his penetrating glance, his eyebrows, always drawn down by his reflective habit, his abrupt mode of speech, impatient and quick, increased the alarm of poor Jeanne.
"A new subject!" said the doctor, as he read the placard in which was inscribed the nature of the patient's malady, and throwing on Jeanne a lengthened look of scrutiny. There was a profound silence amongst the assistants, who, in imitation of the prince of science, fixed a scrutinising glance on the patient. After an examination of several minutes, the doctor, remarking something wrong in the yellow tint of the patient's eyeball, approached her more closely, and, raising the lid with his finger, examined it silently. Then several of the students, responding to the kind of mute invitation of their professor, drew near, and gazed at Jeanne's eye with attention. The doctor then began:
"Your name?"
"Jeanne Duport," she murmured, more and more alarmed.
"Are you married?"
"Alas, yes, sir!" with a profound sigh.
"Have you any children?"
Here, instead of replying, the poor mother gave way to a flood of tears.
"It is no use crying, – answer! Have you any children?"
"Yes, sir, – two little boys, and a girl of sixteen."
Then followed a string of questions impossible to repeat, but to which Jeanne could only reply in stammering, and after many severe rebukes from the doctor. The poor woman was overwhelmed with shame, compelled as she was to reply aloud to such questions before such a numerous auditory.
The doctor, completely absorbed by scientific feelings, did not give the smallest heed to Jeanne's distress, and continued:
"How long have you been ill?"
"Four days, sir," replied Jeanne, drying her tears.
"Tell us how your illness first disclosed itself."
"Sir, – why, – there are so many persons here, that I dare not."
"Pooh! Where do you come from, my dear woman?" inquired the doctor, impatiently; "would you like to have a confessional brought? Come, come, make haste!"
"Sir, these are family matters."
"Oh, be easy, we are all family men here; a large family, too, as you see," added the prince of science, who was in very high spirits that day. "Come, come, let us have an end of this."
More and more alarmed, Jeanne, stammering and hesitating at each moment, said:
"I had – a quarrel with my husband – about the children; I mean my eldest daughter, that he wanted to take away; and I wouldn't agree, because of a wicked woman he lived with, and who might give bad advice to my daughter. So then, my husband, who was tipsy, – yes, sir, – for if not, he'd never have done it, – my husband gave me a very hard push, and I fell; and then, soon after, I began to vomit blood."
"Pooh, pooh, pooh! Your husband pushed you, and you fell; you describe it very nicely! Why, he did more than push you; he must have struck you in the stomach; perhaps trampled on you, or kicked you? Come, answer, – let's have the truth."
"Oh, sir, I assure you that he was tipsy; but for that he would never have been so wicked."
"Good or wicked, drunk or sober, it is not to the purpose, my good woman. I am not a public officer, and only want a fact accurately described. Now, were you not knocked down, and trampled under foot?"
"Yes!" said Jeanne, weeping; "and yet I never gave him any cause of complaint. I worked as long as I could, and – "
"The epigastrium must be very painful. Don't you feel great heat around that region? – uneasiness, lassitude, nausea?"
"Yes, sir. I was quite worn out when I gave up, if not, I should never have left my children; and then, my Catherine! Oh, if you – "
"Put out your tongue," said the doctor, again interrupting the patient.
This appeared so strange to Jeanne, who thought to excite the doctor's pity, that she did not reply immediately, but looked at him with alarm.
"Show me your tongue, which you know so well how to use," said the doctor, with a smile; and he pushed down Jeanne's lower jaw with the end of his finger. After having had his pupils successively, and for some time, feel and examine the subject's tongue, in order to ascertain its colour and dryness, Jeanne, overcoming her fear for a moment, said, in a tremulous voice:
"Sir, I was going to say to you, my neighbours, who are as poor as myself, have been so kind as to take care of my children for a week only, which is a great deal; so at the end of that time I must be back home again. So I beg of you, in God's name, to cure me as quickly as you can, or nearly so, that I may return to work; and I have but a week before me, – for – "
"Discoloured face, – complete state of prostration, – yet the pulse strong, quick, and regular," said the doctor, imperturbably, and pointing to Jeanne. "Remark her well, gentlemen: oppression, heat in the epigastric regions. All these symptoms certainly betoken hæmatemesis, probably complicated by hepatitis, caused by domestic troubles, as is indicated by the yellow discoloration of the eyeball. The subject has had violent blows in the regions of the epigastrium and abdomen; the vomiting blood is the necessary consequence of some organic injury to the viscera. On this point let me call your attention to a very curious, remarkably curious, feature. The post-mortem appearances of those who die of the injuries under which the subject is suffering frequently present remarkable appearances; frequently the malady, very severe and very dangerous, carries off the patient in a few days, and then no trace of it is found."
Doctor Griffon then, throwing off the bed-clothes, nearly denuded poor Jeanne. It would be repugnant to describe the struggle of the unfortunate creature, who, in her shame, implored the doctor and his auditory. But at the threat, "You will be turned out of the hospital, if you do not submit to the established usages," – a threat so terrible for those to whom the hospital is the sole and last refuge, – Jeanne submitted to a public scrutiny, which lasted a long time, very long, for Doctor Griffon analysed and explained every symptom; and then the most studious of the pupils declared their wish to unite practice with theory, and also examine the patient. The end of this scene was that poor Jeanne felt such extreme emotion that she fell into a nervous crisis, for which Doctor Griffon gave an extra prescription.
The round continued, and the doctor soon reached the bed of Mlle. Claire de Fermont, a victim, like her mother, to the cupidity of Jacques Ferrand.
Mlle, de Fermont, dressed in a cap of the hospital, was leaning her head languidly on the bolster of the bed. In spite of the ravages of her malady, there might be detected on her open and sweet countenance the traces of a beauty full of distinction. After a night of keen anguish, the poor girl had fallen into a kind of feverish stupor, and when the doctor and his scientific train entered the ward she was not aroused by the noise.
"Another first subject, gentlemen," said the prince of science. "Disease, a slow nervous fever; if the receiving surgeon is not mistaken in the symptoms, this is a real godsend. For a long time I have desired a slow nervous fever, for that is not an ordinary complaint amongst the poor. These affections are usually produced after severe trouble in the social position of the subject, and I need hardly add that the higher the position of the patient, the more deep is the disease. It is, moreover, a complaint the more remarkable from its peculiar characteristics. It is traced to the very remotest antiquity, and the writings of Hippocrates have no doubt reference to it. This fever, I repeat, has almost always been produced from the most violent grief, and grief is as old as the world. Yet, strange to say, before the eighteenth century, this disease was never accurately described by any author; it was Huxham, whom the science of medicine of the age so highly honours, – Huxham, I say, who first defined accurately nervous fever; and yet it is a malady of the olden time," added the doctor, jocosely. "Eh, eh, eh! It belongs to the great, antique, and illustrious family of febris, whose origin is lost in the darkness of ages. But we may be rejoicing too soon; let us see if really we have the good fortune to possess here a sample of this curious affection; it would be doubly desirable, inasmuch as, for a very long time, I have been anxious to try the effect of the internal use of phosphorus. Yes, gentlemen," continued the doctor, hearing amongst his auditory a kind of shudder of curiosity, – "yes, gentlemen, of phosphorus; it is a singular experiment that I wish to try, and a bold one, and but audaces fortuna juvat, and the opportunity would be excellent. We will first try if the subject offers in all parts of the body, and particularly in the chest, that miliary eruption, so symptomatic according to Huxham, and you will assure yourselves, by feeling the subject, of the kind of uneven surface which this eruption produces. But do not let us sell the skin of our bear before we have killed it," added the prince of science, who was decidedly in very high spirits. And he shook Mlle. de Fermont's shoulder very gently, in order to wake her.
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