‘I will repeat every word you have told me; and I am proud to be bearer of such a speech. May I presume, upon the casual confidence I have thus acquired, to add one word for myself; and it is as the doctor I would speak.’
‘Speak freely. What is it?’
‘It is this, then: you young ladies keep your watches in turn in the sick-room. The patient is unfit for much excitement, and as I dare not take the liberty of imposing a line of conduct on Mademoiselle Kostalergi, I have resolved to run the hazard with you! Let hers be the task of entertaining him; let her be the reader—and he loves being read to—and the talker, and the narrator of whatever goes on. To you be the part of quiet watchfulness and care, to bathe the heated brow, or the burning hand, to hold the cold cup to the parched lips, to adjust the pillow, to temper the light, and renew the air of the sick-room, but to speak seldom, if at all. Do you understand me?’
‘Perfectly; and you are wise and acute in your distribution of labour: each of us has her fitting station.’
‘I dared not have said this much to her: my doctor’s instinct told me I might be frank with you.’
‘You are safe in speaking to me,’ said she calmly.
‘Perhaps I ought to say that I give these suggestions without any concert with my patient. I have not only abstained from consulting, but—’
‘Forgive my interrupting you, Sir X. It was quite unnecessary to tell me this.’
‘You are not displeased with me, dear lady?’ said he, in his softest of accents.
‘No; but do not say anything which might make me so.’