"I am a surgeon, monseigneur."
He looked in silence at me for a moment, then rising, said--
"Pardon me, sir; pray forgive my hasty language."
He trembled with excitement, scarcely yet subdued, and presently he went
on--
"What is your opinion, sir?"
"It is over--she is dead!"
Then, without speaking another word, he sat upon a large stone, with his
forehead resting upon his hand and his elbow on his knee, his eyes
motionless, as still as a statue.
I sat near the fire, watching the flames rising to the vaulted roof of
the cave, and casting lurid reflections upon the rigid features of the
corpse.
We had sat there an hour as motionless as statues, each deep in thought,
when, suddenly lifting his head, the baron said--
"Sir, all this utterly confounds me. Here is my mother--for twenty-six
years I thought I knew her--and now an abyss of horrible mysteries opens
before me. You are a doctor; tell me, did you ever know anything so
dreadful?"
"Monseigneur," I replied, "the Count of Nideck is afflicted with a
complaint strikingly similar to that from which your mother appears to
have suffered. If you feel enough confidence in me to communicate to me
the facts which you have yourself observed, I will gladly tell you what I
know myself; for perhaps this exchange of our experiences might supply me
with the means to save my patient.
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