But at the door he choked, he swelled, he burst. He whirled and came back open-mouthed, and the little boy and big basket had to whisk semicircularly not to be run down, for de minimis non curat Medicina—even when not in a rage.
"Ah! you reject my skill, you scorn my art. My revenge shall be to leave you to yourself; lost idiot, take your last look at me, and at the sun. Your blood be on your head!" And away he stamped.
But on reaching the door he whirled and came back; his wicker tail twirling round after him like a cat's.
"In twelve hours at furthest you will be in the secondary stage of fever. Your head will split. Your carotids will thump. Aha! And let but a pin fall you will jump to the ceiling. Then send for me: and I'll not come." He departed. But at the door-handle gathered fury, wheeled and came flying, with pale, terror-stricken boy and wicker tail whisking after him. "Next will come—Cramps of the Stomach. Aha!
"Then—Bilious Vomit. Aha!
"Then—Cold Sweat, and Deadly Stupor.
"Then—Confusion of all the Senses.
"Then—Bloody Vomit.
"And after that nothing can save you, not even I: and if I could I would not, and so farewell!"
Even Denys changed colour at threats so fervent and precise; but Gerard only gnashed his teeth with rage at the noise, and seized his hard bolster with kindling eye.