“If he should not suffer, would his recovery be sure?”
“It would be likely, but not sure.”
Balsamo cast an inexpressible look of triumph on the speaker and placing himself before the patient, whose frightened and terror-filled eyes he caught, he said: “Sleep!” not with the mouth solely but with look, will, all the heat of his blood and the fluid electricity in his system.
At this instant the chief surgeon was beginning to feel the injured thigh and point out to the pupils the extent of the ail.
But at this command from the mesmerist, the young man, who had been raised by an assistant, swung a little and let his head sink, while his eyes closed.
“He feels bad,” said Marat; “he loses consciousness.”
“Nay, he sleeps.”
Everybody looked at this stranger whom they took for a lunatic.
Over Marat’s lips flitted a smile of incredulity.
“Does a man usually speak in a swoon?” asked Balsamo. “Question him and he will answer you.”