"There is nothing much the matter."

"Don't tire him," said Bianchon, drawing Eugene into a corner of the
room.

"Well?" asked Rastignac.

"Nothing but a miracle can save him now. Serous congestion has set in;
I have put on mustard plasters, and luckily he can feel them, they are
acting."

"Is it possible to move him?"

"Quite out of the question. He must stay where he is, and be kept as
quiet as possible----"

"Dear Bianchon," said Eugene, "we will nurse him between us."

"I have had the head physician round from my hospital to see him."

"And what did he say?"

"He will give no opinion till to-morrow evening. He promised to look
in again at the end of the day. Unluckily, the preposterous creature
must needs go and do something foolish this morning; he will not say
what it was. He is as obstinate as a mule. As soon as I begin to talk
to him he pretends not to hear, and lies as if he were asleep instead
of answering, or if he opens his eyes he begins to groan. Some time
this morning he went out on foot in the streets, nobody knows where he