He grew no better. In spite of the most careful nursing his symptoms changed, but showed no improvement.
Each attack was more violent than the preceding.
Toward the end of the week the pains left his head, and he felt well enough to get up and partake of a slight nourishment.
But poor Gaston was a mere shadow of his former self. In one week he had aged ten years. His strong constitution was broken. He, who ten days ago was boasting of his vigorous health, was now weak and bent like an old man. He could hardly drag himself along, and shivered in the warm sun as if he were bloodless.
Leaning on Louis’s arm, he slowly walked down to look at the forge, and, seating himself before a furnace at full blast, he declared that he felt very much better, that this intense heat revived him.
His pains were all gone, and he could breathe without difficulty.
His spirits rose, and he turned to the workmen gathered around, and said cheerfully:
“I was not blessed with a good constitution for nothing, my friends, and I shall soon be well again.”
When the neighbors called to see him, and insisted that this illness was entirely owing to change of climate, Gaston replied that he supposed they were right, and that he would return to Rio as soon as he was well enough to travel.
What hope this answer roused in Louis’s breast!