“Well, then, it is so, I assure you.”
“Doctor,” said Rose, “do you remember, one day you said healthy blood could be drawn from robust veins and poured into a sick person’s?”
“It is a well-known fact,” said Aubertin.
“I don’t believe it,” said Rose, dryly.
“Then you place a very narrow limit to science,” said the doctor, coldly.
“Did you ever see it done?” asked Rose, slyly.
“I have not only seen it done, but have done it myself.”
“Then do it for us. There’s my arm; take blood from that for dear Josephine!” and she thrust a white arm out under his eye with such a bold movement and such a look of fire and love as never beamed from common eyes.
A keen, cold pang shot through the human heart of Edouard Riviere.
The doctor started and gazed at her with admiration: then he hung his head. “I could not do it. I love you both too well to drain either of life’s current.”