"It will have a bad ending. I could not swear to it, but it is my conviction. I will put her to sleep with an opiate, and will try to check the fever. I hope by to-morrow her mind will be clear. But what good will that do, since her wish for death has not been created by the fever? She will beg neither you nor me for death to-morrow, but she will find it for herself."
Agenor wrung his hands, saying:
"I will do anything to quiet her. She looks at everything in too black a light--perhaps I may prove it to her. I shall never desert her, never leave her to her fate, never! I shall watch her carefully, and have her watched."
The doctor shook his head.
"Nonsense!" he said, harshly; "if and how you can convince her is your own affair; but don't attempt supervision. I have my own experiences of that sort of thing. And if it succeeded, it would only be verifying the manner of her death. For if she did not die in the pond, she would in her bed. There is no such thing, my dear sir, as a broken heart; it is only to be found in novels. But there is such a thing as consumptive fever. I saw Judith six weeks ago, and now again, and I can assure you she is in a fair way for it. As affects my conscience, the difference in the manner of death would not be considerable, but I must leave to you which you prefer to adopt."
He opened his medicine-chest, and began to prepare a drink.
The count sighed profoundly.
"Dear Dr. Reiser, you judge me severely. A man like you ought to know life. These affairs rarely end tragically. I assure you I look at my duties to Judith very seriously. But a marriage would be a moral suicide. That you must acknowledge."
The doctor turned around sharply and looked into the count's face. It was very gloomy.
"I admit it. But can one commit a physical murder to save one's self from moral suicide?"