“I—what? I beg your pardon, sir, but you took me by surprise,” added Hugh, his thin face flushing.
Then he explained that if there were any symptoms of physical disease he would see the princesse with pleasure, but that he did not prescribe for the mind.
The fair man, whose white satin manners and womanish grace were peculiarly repugnant to Hugh, rapidly translated Dr. Paull’s speech to the prince in Italian (a language with which Hugh had a slight acquaintance), and the prince made a voluble reply, which touched Hugh as being the earnest appeal of a man who was in considerable anxiety on the subject of his wife.
“I have understood his highness,” he said, somewhat dryly, when the count (he had been addressed as such by the prince) turned towards him to interpret; “and I will willingly see the lady and prescribe for her if it be in my power to do her any good, which I doubt.”
“Ah! sir; but we do not doubt it,” said the count with enthusiasm. “Nor did le Docteur Fosterre, who saw her it is two days ago, but whose medicine the princesse will not accept.”
“Dr. Foster saw her?” asked Hugh, puzzled. (Dr. Foster was a nerve-doctor with a large fashionable practice, much in favour with lady patients.) “I fear if Dr. Foster has been unsuccessful, I can do nothing.”
Further persuasions on the part of the count, who interpreted everything to his princely friend, led to Hugh’s provisional promise that after two days he would see the lady. He was to meet Dr. Foster in consultation on the morrow, and intended to talk with him on the subject. Then a difficulty was explained to him: the princess objected to doctors in toto. The meeting must be brought about by stratagem. The great Dr. B—— S—— had fallen in with this arrangement, and had had a long interview with the princess one evening at the Italian Embassy in Paris without her realising that he was one of the obnoxious faculty until it was over.
“But could he do nothing?” asked Hugh, astonished.
“Monsieur, he said the same as the Docteur Z. in Rome, and your Docteur Fosterre here in Londres. The princesse has a disease which is rare in one who has all the world at her charming feet. She likes not life, she longs for death, or, let us say, the heavens.”
“Which, interpreted, means the lady is a spoilt creature, and is thoroughly discontented,” thought Hugh, with a smile of amusement, after his visitors had oppressed him with a profusion of thanks, had bowed themselves out, and driven off in the carriage. At first the interview amused him; but after the novelty had worn off, he felt a distaste for the task he had undertaken, neither an onerous nor an unpleasant one, the interviewing of a beautiful and evidently amiable Spanish lady. But Hugh disliked women as patients even more than he disliked them as companions. His liking for the sex lay buried in Lilia’s grave.