She stared at me, quite perplexed. "You are right!" she said at last, and there was not a man alive who could boast that she had ever said as much to him. She asked me how I came to know or to guess the nature of her sufferings, and I told her that I had had great experience in the treatment of nervous disorders, and that her case was by no means hopeless. That although it was impossible to entirely and permanently cure the disease and drive away its attacks, yet it might be greatly diminished. The paroxysms might be reduced in duration and violence, and that without administering any poisonous drugs—simply by proper massage.
"Then I am sorry that we have no female physicians as yet; for I would never submit to that treatment from a male physician."
"And do you know that this shrinking is one of the symptoms of the malady, and at the same time its main foundation?"
"How so?"
"Because, if your views of propriety were not distorted, you would apply for help in time, and not wait until you are past cure; but you grow up with the conviction that it is a shame and a degradation to confess your physical weaknesses to a male physician, yet you are by no means ashamed—nay, you consider it a duty and a virtue—to confess your mental and moral failings to a priest, although he is a man as well as the physician, and the sins you confess are sometimes more degrading and shameful than the sores of your body."
She looked at me for quite a while. "Again you are right," she said, and with that broke off the conversation.
At that period, every day brought some political meeting or party conference, and the leaders of the coming elections, head-drummers, and subalterns swarmed into Vernöcze, bringing all sorts of news, asking for all sorts of information, and Countess Diodora was at the head of everything—presiding at the councils, assisting them all with her advice, never tired, never slackening in spirit or courage, and never forgetting her position as hostess—and a bountiful hostess, too.
When the discussion approached the financial question, she said to me with rare delicacy—
"This is no affair of yours; leave that to us. You can meanwhile go and look for the girls in the park."
And I, in spite of my professional sagacity, in spite of the knowledge and experience I had gained, I was such a greenhorn—such a simple fool—that I actually believed in the existence of a fund raised for the especial purpose of sending such shining political stars, such rare celebrities, as the Honourable Cornelius Dumany, into Parliament, there to enlighten the minds of his compatriots, and to be a blessing to his country; although, if any one had asked me how I had deserved to be held in such high esteem, I could not have found an answer! Oh, vanity and conceit! How easily you are caught in the meshes of cunning deception!