The doctor rattled these symptoms off with great volubility. The Count looked at him with open-eyed wonder. The professor was not less astonished at the positiveness with which Dr. Jones thus detailed the Count's symptoms without any previous knowledge of the case.
"Whether you be angel or devil, I do not know; but certain it is that you have told my symptoms better than I could have done myself. But you make a bold assertion when you say that I can be cured. Do you know, man, that I have had the best advice in Europe, and have spent a fortune seeking relief?"
"Are you taking medicine now, sir?"
"No. I have thrown physic to the dogs, and may God have mercy on the dogs. I am thoroughly disgusted with physic and physicians. And why should I not be? Several years since, I saw my wife die of pulmonary consumption. And now my only child lies in a chamber above, well advanced in the same terrible, wholly incurable disease. As if this were not enough, I myself am suffering the pangs of h—l with a lingering, incurable complaint. Why shouldn't I detest the whole lying, infernal business?" he roared, striking the floor savagely with his cane.
"Sure enough, sure enough," said the Doctor soothingly and sympathetically. "I do not blame you in the least. But we will see if something cannot be done for you, Count. I believe in my soul that I can cure you, and that right speedily. Let us now hasten back, for our people will be alarmed at our long absence."
They found them indeed wondering and anxious. All immediately descended and repaired to the castle. The Count met them at the door, and, after a formal introduction to each, led them to a large, quite modernly furnished drawing-room.
"Now," said the Count, "please make yourselves at home. I intend that you shall be my guests while you remain in this vicinity. You will be shown to your rooms in a few moments. You will please excuse me now, and I will see you at dinner, which will be at six o'clock."
He was about leaving the room, limping painfully, when Dr. Jones stepped up to him, and, pulling a small vial from his vest pocket, said: "Put out your tongue, Count; I wish to give you a dose of medicine that will cure your sciatica."
The Count looked at him suspiciously a moment, then sat down as requested, and put out his tongue. Dr. Jones shook a grain or two of powder upon it.
"You will suffer less to-night than you have done in a long time. It is very possible that this one dose will cure you perfectly and permanently."