“No, no, he has lost enough!” cried the physician; “the bleeding has had a good effect. Come and see, Monsieur Professor; but we must not abuse the remedy; it is as dangerous now, as the evil it is to counteract.”
Christian, not without a shudder of mortal and inexplicable repugnance, held the baron’s cold, heavy arm, while the physician closed the vein. The sick man opened his eyes, and soon tried to make out where he was. His first glance was for the strange bed where he was lying, the second for his blood-stained arm, and the third for his trembling physician.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, in a feeble voice, and in a scornful tone, “you have been bleeding me! I forbade it.”
“It was necessary, your lordship; you are much better, thank heaven!” replied the doctor.
The baron was too weak to argue. He tried to look around him with his faded eyes, in which appeared an expression of gloomy anxiety; but, when he saw Christian’s face, his eyes dilated, and fastened upon him with a stupefied stare. At that moment, Christian was bending forward to help the physician to lift him up; he repulsed him with a convulsive gesture; and the faint semblance of a lifelike hue, that was beginning to return to his face, was succeeded by a livid pallor.
“Open the vein again,” cried Stangstadius to the doctor; “I knew you were closing it too soon. Did I not tell you so? Open it, and afterwards leave him quiet for at least five minutes.”
“But the cold, Monsieur Professor,” said the physician, obeying Stangstadius mechanically; “are you not afraid that the cold will be fatal, under such circumstances?”
“Bah! the cold!” replied Stangstadius; “I laugh at the cold of the atmosphere! The cold of death is much worse! Let him bleed, I tell you, and then let him rest. You must follow the prescription, come what may.”
Turning to Christian, he added:
“The tall baron is in a bad scrape. I would not like to be in his skin just now. There now—where the devil have I seen you?”