"Why should it be incurable?" asked the physician, faltering. "You are young, sire, and have a sound constitution."
"No commonplaces, Quarin, no equivocation," cried Joseph, impatiently. "I must have the truth, do you hear me?—the truth. I cannot afford to be surprised by death, for I must provide for a nation, and my house must be set in order. I am not afraid of death, my friend; it comes to me in the smiling guise of a liberator. Therefore be frank, and tell the at once whether my malady is dangerous."
Again he raised his large, brilliant eyes to the face of the physician. Quarin's features were convulsed with distress, and tears stood in his eyes. His voice was very tremulous as he replied
"Yes, sire, it is dangerous."
The emperor's countentance remained perfectly calm. "Can you tell me with any degree of precision how long I have to live?"
"No, sire; you may live yet for several weeks, or some excitement may put an end to your existence in a few days. In this malady the patient must be prepared at any moment for death."
"Then it is incurable?"
"Yes, sire," faltered Quarin, his tears bursting forth afresh.
The emperor looked thoughtfully before him, and for some time kept silence. Then extending his hand with a smile, he said,
"From my soul I thank you for the manly frankness with which you have treated me, Quarin, and I desire now to give you a testimony of my gratitude. You have children, have you not?"