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!"