“I would go with you to the end of the world, all the more as you are now sick and sad, and when I saw you first you were blithe and well. If I must leave you, I hope at least to see you happy first.”
The doctor came in just then to tell me that my poor Spaniard was so ill that he could not leave his bed.
“I will have him cured at Berne,” said I; “tell him that we are going to dine there the day after to-morrow.”
“I must tell you, sir, that though it’s only a seven leagues’ journey, he cannot possibly undertake it as he has lost the use of all his limbs.”
“I am sorry to hear that, doctor.”
“I dare say, but it’s true.”
“I must verify the matter with my own eyes;” and so saying I went to see Le Duc.
I found the poor rascal, as the doctor had said, incapable of motion. He had only the use of his tongue and his eyes.
“You are in a pretty state,” said I to him.
“I am very ill, sir, though otherwise I feel quite well.”