I felt it incumbent upon me to express some surprise, so I shook my head; whereupon the majordomo came over and sat down on my right, saying, "Take my advice, doctor, and prescribe a bottle of Marcobrunner every day."
"And a chicken wing at each meal," added Marie Lagoutte; "the poor man is as thin as a ghost."
"We have some Marcobrunner sixty years old, and Johannisberg of the year '14; for Villars's fellows didn't drink it all, as Madame Offenloch would have it. You might prescribe now and then a glass of Johannisberg; there is nothing like it to set a man on his feet."
"There was a time," said the master of the hounds in a melancholy tone, "there was a time when our master went on the hunt twice a week, and he was well; now that he has stopped, he is ill."
"That is reasonable enough," observed Marie Lagoutte; "the fresh air gave him an appetite. The doctor should order him three hunts a week to make up for lost time."
"Two would do," replied the master of the hounds dismally; "two would do. The dogs must have some time to rest. They must be considered as well as we."
A few moments of silence succeeded, during which I could hear the wind rattling the windows and whistling boisterously through the loopholes and along the empty halls. Sebalt had crossed his legs, and with his elbow on his knee supporting his chin, he gazed into the fire with unspeakable gloominess. Marie Lagoutte refreshed herself with a pinch of snuff, and I was reflecting on that strange infirmity that leads us to press our advice on others, whether they desire it or not, when the majordomo rose, and leaning over the back of my chair, said:
"Will you have a glass of wine, doctor?"
"Thank you, but I never drink before visiting a patient."
"What, not even one small glass?"