He was a little, bald-headed man of fifty, with a quick, bright eye, and pleasant face.
The servant fortunately found him at home; and he was soon standing at Valentine’s bed-side, with a grave, perplexed look upon his usually cheerful face.
Endowed with profound perspicacity, quickened by practice, he studied Valentine and her mother alternately; and the penetrating gaze which he fastened on the old countess so disconcerted her that she felt her wrinkled face turning very red.
“This child is very ill,” he abruptly said.
Mme. de la Verberie made no reply.
“I desire,” continued the doctor, “to remain alone with her for a few minutes.”
The countess dared not resist the authority of a man of Dr. Raget’s character, and retired to the next room, apparently calm, but in reality disturbed by the most gloomy forebodings.
At the end of half an hour—it seemed a century—the doctor entered the room where she was waiting. He, who had witnessed so much suffering and misery all his life, was agitated and nervous after talking with Valentine.
“Well,” said the countess, “what is the matter?”
“Summon all your courage, madame,” he answered sadly, “and be prepared to grant indulgence and pardon to your suffering child. Mlle. Valentine will soon become a mother.”