"But so recently risen from a bed of sickness that surprise may kill her! Unhappy man that I am, doomed for ever to misery and suffering!"
At this moment the negro doctor, David, entered the room in great haste, holding in one hand a small case filled with phials, and in the other a paper he handed to Murphy.
"David!" exclaimed Rodolph, "my child is dying! I once saved your life, repay me now by saving that of my daughter."
Although amazed at hearing the prince speak thus, David hurried to Fleur-de-Marie, whom Madame d'Harville was supporting in her arms, examined her pulse and the veins of her temples, then turning towards Rodolph, who in speechless agony was awaiting his decree, he said:
"Your royal highness has no cause for alarm; there is no danger."
"Can it be true? Are you quite sure she will recover?"
"Perfectly so, my lord; a few drops of ether administered in a glass of water is all that is requisite to restore consciousness."
"Thanks, thanks, my good, my excellent David!" cried the prince, in an ecstasy of joy. Then addressing Clémence, Rodolph added, "Our daughter will be spared to us."
Murphy had just glanced over the paper given him by David; suddenly he started, and gazed with looks of terror at the prince.
"Yes, my old and faithful friend," cried Rodolph, misinterpreting the expression of Murphy's features, "ere long my daughter will enjoy the happiness of calling the Marquise d'Harville mother."