The scar—it was an incised crown that almost disappeared under the long hair; a wound that went round the back of the head. What possible fall could have caused it?
“His health is excellent,” said my uncle. “You see, Nicolas, he was violent at first, and hurt himself badly all over. In a fortnight, it will all have disappeared. He can be taken away. The consultation is at an end. So you advise me to get rid of him as soon as possible, Nicolas? Tell me your opinion, I attach value to it.”
I congratulated him on his resolution, although so much kindliness kept me on the alert.
Lerne gave a sigh. “You are right! The world is so evil-minded. I am going to write immediately. Will you take my letter to the post at Grey? It will be ready in ten minutes.”
My nerves relaxed. I had asked myself as I came into the château if I should ever come out again, and sometimes, even now the demon of unhealthy dreams shows me the madman’s room as a dungeon.
The old rascal was really showing himself paternal and benevolent; though he could dispose of my liberty and imprison me, he sent me for a run in the fields, which might have ended in a flight.
Was a freedom, granted so readily, worth profiting by? I wasn’t such a fool! I would not make use of it.
Whilst Lerne was writing his letter to the Macbeths, I went for a stroll in the park, and I there witnessed an incident which made the strangest possible impression upon me.
As has been seen, fortune made ceaseless sport of me. She jerked me like a marionette—first towards calm, and then towards trouble. This time she used a trivial cause to upset my mind. Had I been feeling more at ease, I should not have interpreted what was perhaps only a freak of nature, as so great a mystery, but marvels were in the air. I felt them everywhere, and this phrase was always sounding in my ears: