added: "And fortunately, here he comes."

The doctor entered. He was a young man, although his head was
almost quite bald. He was short, very thin, clean-shaven, and
clad in black from head to foot. Without a word, without a bow,
he walked straight to the bedside, lifted the unconscious man's
eyelids, felt his pulse, and uncovered his chest, applying his ear
to it. "This is a serious case," he said at the close of his
examination.

Mademoiselle Marguerite, who had followed his movements with the
most poignant anxiety, could not repress a sob. "But all hope is
not lost, is it, monsieur?" she asked in a beseeching voice, with
hands clasped in passionate entreaty. "You will save him, will
you not--you will save him?"

"One may always hope for the best."

This was the doctor's only answer. He had drawn his case of
instruments from his pocket, and was testing the points of his
lancets on the tip of his finger. When he had found one to his
liking: "I must ask you, mademoiselle," said he, "to order these
women to retire, and to retire yourself. The men will remain to
assist me, if I require help."

She obeyed submissively, but instead of returning to her own room,
she remained in the hall, seating herself upon the lower step of
the staircase near the door, counting the seconds, and drawing a
thousand conjectures from the slightest sound.