"The doctor, gnädiger Herr."
Leo met him in the hall, hurrying, after the manner of busy doctors, to his conveyance.
"How is she, doctor?" he asked, detaining him.
"As well as can be expected," was the curt reply.
"What does that mean? That all danger is past?"
"It means that the baroness is simply suffering from an attack of bile, which I don't envy her."
"Hasn't she taken poison?"
"Poison! Humph! My dear sir, it depends on what you call poison. The baroness may have had the intention of taking her life, I dare say. But she went the wrong way about it. She drank her toothache drops, Herr von Sellenthin, a mixture of ether, alcohol, and oil, not exactly unpleasant to the taste, but one that few would be of sufficiently tough constitution not to feel some disagreeable effects from imbibing. Now she seems to have slept herself out, but will probably suffer a day or two yet from a disordered stomach. Good day to you, Herr von Sellenthin."
He got into the sleigh, bowed, and drove off.
Leo felt disgusted, and half disappointed; the most sacred spot in his heart seemed to have been rudely tampered with.