Whether he acted in accordance with his temperament, little inclined to dissimulate no matter how serious a case might be, whether the evidence seemed to him glaring, or whether in his clear-sightedness he realised that I was responsible, he hurled his opinion in my face, without warning of any kind.
“She is lost.”
When one is accustomed only to conversations velvety with politeness even if they are savage at bottom, such brutal statements are disconcerting; one does not allow them or believe in them, one considers them declamatory. In society no one is flat-footed, with love or truth or death. One turns carefully aside from such lack of taste or tactless language as the doctor’s.
Quite calmly I let him know my incredulity.
“Come, come, then, what is her trouble?” I asked.
“Her trouble? She hasn’t any.”
“What is the matter then?”
“If she had any, I should know how to treat her. I find nothing, and I can do nothing. She has reached the end of her forces, she is exhausted. Her heart and arteries do not perform their functions properly. They may stop at any moment. In any case, they will not act much longer. It is the same with her as with very old people sometimes; the oil is dry, the wick is burned out.”
“At her age? You are joking, doctor.”
“At her age, yes, it is surprising. I have met similar cases among the working people in the hospitals, from too early or badly cared-for maternity, or from too long uninterrupted manual labour and lack of hygiene.”