“Weakness!” replied Athos; “is it possible? I do not get up.”
“Come, come! monsieur le comte, no subterfuges; you are a good Christian?”
“I hope so,” said Athos.
“Is it your wish to kill yourself?”
“Never, doctor.”
“Well! monsieur, you are in a fair way of doing so. Thus to remain is suicide. Get well! monsieur le comte, get well!”
“Of what? Find the disease first. For my part, I never knew myself better; never did the sky appear more blue to me; never did I take more care of my flowers.”
“You have a hidden grief.”
“Concealed!—not at all; the absence of my son, doctor; that is my malady, and I do not conceal it.”
“Monsieur le comte, your son lives, he is strong, he has all the future before him—the future of men of merit, of his race; live for him—”