Count Rivero approached the bed with a quick step and a commanding movement.
"Hope! countess," he said in a firm, clear voice, "God will bless my hand! And now, baron, give up your place to me, moments are precious!" He slightly touched the shoulder of the young man as he knelt.
He rose hastily and stepped aside.
The count removed the compress, and calmly examined the wound. It was much swollen, of a bluish colour, and long streaks of inflammation extended to the shoulder.
All eyes rested on the count's face with the most earnest anxiety; he looked at the wound attentively and lightly followed the swelling with his finger. Clara gazed with surprise mingled with hopeful confidence, at this man who was quite unknown to her, but who stood so quietly beside her and who had so confidently said to her, "hope!"
The count concluded his examination.
"It is quite true," he said; "corrupted matter has got into the wound, the poison has spread greatly, it is almost too late!"
He opened the black casket he had brought with him, and which he had placed beside him on the table.
It contained a small surgical apparatus, and several little cut glass bottles.
The count took a knife with a golden handle and a highly-polished shining blade.