"I should be glad for you to come and see Gaspard; he has been very ill all night, and there are some strange symptoms about him."
The Chaplain rose, and followed the "keeper" into the chamber above, where in a small "cubicle," separated by a screen from the other couches, the sick man tossed.
"He is delirious; how long has he been so?"
"Nearly all the night."
"And in a raging fever?—but this blackness; I never saw one so dark before."
It was, alas, too true. The body was fast assuming a strange dark, yet livid, hue, as if the blood were ink instead of red blood.
"Lift up the left arm," said the Chaplain.
Near the armpits were two or three swellings about the size of a pigeon's egg. The Chaplain saw them and grew serious.
"It is the black fever—the plague!" almost screamed the horrified attendant.
"Keep cool, brother John; nothing is gained by excitement, and all is lost by fear; put your trust in God."