The surgeon had his steel ready, but he hesitated at the beginning.
“Proceed,” repeated Balsamo with the manner of an inspired prophet.
Mastered as Marat and the patient had been and as all the rest were, the surgeon put the knife edge to the flesh: it “squeaked” literally at the cut, but the patient did not flinch or utter a sigh.
“What countryman are you, friend?” asked the mesmerist.
“From Brittany, my lord.”
“Do you love your country?”
“Ay, it is such a fine one,” and he smiled.
Meanwhile the operator was making the circular incisions which are the preliminary steps in amputations to lay the bone bare.
“Did you leave it when early in life?” continued Balsamo.
“I was only ten years old, my lord.”