“How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Ah! good!” he cried, rising; “I will answer for the cure. Mind, I do not say that I can restore the use of her legs; but cured of the disease, that she shall be. Only, I must have her in a private hospital under my own eye.”
“But, monsieur, my daughter cannot be moved!”
“I will answer for her,” said Halpersohn, curtly; “but I will answer for her only on those conditions. She will have to exchange her present malady for another still more terrible, which may last a year, six months at the very least. You may come and see her at the hospital, since you are her father.”
“Are you certain of curing her?” said Monsieur Bernard.
“Certain,” repeated the Jew. “Madame has in her body an element, a vitiated fluid, the national disease, and it must be eliminated. You must bring her to me at Challot, rue Basse-Saint-Pierre, private hospital of Doctor Halpersohn.”
“How can I?”
“On a stretcher, just as all sick persons are carried to hospitals.”
“But the removal will kill her!”