The General, who for some extraordinary reason had not had recourse to alcohol to give him courage, took the chair offered him by the Prince. He was a little flushed, not knowing exactly how to begin what he had to say; and, being sober, he was terribly afraid of appearing, like an idiot.
"This is what is the matter," he said, plunging at once in medias res. "Doctor Fargeas, who sent me, might have come himself; but he thought that I, being her uncle, should—"
"You have come to consult me about Marsa," said Andras, unconsciously glad to pronounce her name.
"Yes," began the General, becoming suddenly intimidated, "of—of Marsa. She is very ill-Marsa is. Very ill. Stupor, Fargeas says. She does not say a word-nothing. A regular automaton! It is terrible to see her— terrible—terrible."
He raised his round, uneasy eyes to Andras, who was striving to appear calm, but whose lips twitched nervously.
"It is impossible to rouse her," continued Vogotzine. "The, doctors can do nothing. There is no hope except in an—an—an experiment."
"An experiment?"
"Yes, exactly, exactly—an experiment. You see he—he wanted to know if —(you must pardon me for what I am about to propose; it is Doctor Fargeas's idea)—You see—if—if—she should see—(I suppose—these are not my words)—if she should see you again at Doctor Sims's establishment —the emotion—the—the—Well, I don't know exactly what Doctor Fargeas does hope; but I have repeated to you his words—I am simply, quite simply, his messenger."
"The doctor," said Andras, calmly, "would like—your niece to see me again?"
"Yes, yes; and speak to you. You see, you are the only one for whom—"