‘There are no flesh-wounds,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo. ‘They have all healed; ‘tis an internal shock.’
‘For internal shocks,’ said Barizy of the Tower, ‘there is nothing like rosemary stewed with salt, and so keep on till it simmers.’
‘That is very well for a bruise,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo.
‘A bruise is a shock,’ said Barizy of the Tower.
‘Besso should have remained at Aleppo,’ said the Consul.
‘Besso always comes to Jerusalem when he is indisposed,’ said Barizy; ‘as he well says, ‘tis the only air that can cure him; and, if he cannot be cured, why, at least, he can be buried in the Valley of Je-hoshaphat.’
‘He is not at Jerusalem,’ said the Consul Pasqualigo, maliciously.
‘How do you mean?’ said Barizy, somewhat confused. ‘I am now going to inquire after him, and smoke some of his Latakia.’
‘He is at Bethany,’ said the Consul.
‘Hem!’ said Barizy, mysteriously. ‘Bethany! Will that marriage come off now, think you? I always fancy, when, eh?——’