"Only a very little time," he answered. "How much did you drink?"
She put her hand to her stomach, as if pain had stabbed her.
"Drink pure wine," said Galen. "Swiftly. Drink a lot of it."
She went to the amphora. Before she could reach it there came a roar like a furious beast's from the bedroom.
"I am poisoned! Marcia! Marcia! My belly burns! I am on fire inside! I faint! Marcia!—Marcia!" Then groans and a great creaking of the bed.
Marcia—she was trembling now—drank wine, and Pertinax began to pace the floor.
"You, Galen, you had better go in to him," said Marcia.
"If I do go, I must heal him," Galen answered.
The groans in the bedroom ceased. The shouts began again—terrific imprecations—curses hurled at Marcia—the struggles of a strong man in the throes of cramp—and, at last, the sound of vomiting.
"If he vomits he will not die!" Marcia exclaimed. Galen nodded. He appeared immensely satisfied—expectant.