Moser's long, meagre frame seemed to give the direct lie to this assumption, but Dr. Brunnow did not stick at such trifles. He went on calmly:
"Let me add that, to one of your peculiar constitution, it would be an incalculable benefit to have a doctor for a son-in-law, one who would watch over his father-in-law's health with the utmost care. As I said before, you must not excite yourself."
"It is you who excite me!" cried the Councillor, stung to distraction by this repeated mention of the objectionable relationship. "It is you who will bring on me an apoplectic attack with your detestable suggestions. I feel quite ill now; the blood is all mounting to my head. I want air."
So saying, he sank back in his arm-chair, and clutched at his cravat again. Max kindly came to his assistance, and loosened the knot.
"We will take off this white monstrosity," said he, "you'll feel easier then. I have an infallible remedy against congestions, and I will prescribe it for you at once. These seizures are serious; we must be careful."
Moser gave a melancholy glance at his beloved white cravat, now in the sacrilegious hands of the doctor, who folded it neatly together before laying it on the table. With that "white monstrosity" all the old gentleman's vehemence seemed to have gone from him; the allusion to apoplexy had made him anxious. He looked on quietly while his tormentor went up to the writing-table, wrote a prescription for a harmless composing draught, and then returned to him, holding the paper.
"Six drops in a glass of water," he said impressively.
"How often?" growled the Councillor.
"Three times a day."
"Thank you."