“The physicians, for there were two—as I had from the outset requested a celebrated practitioner, Dr. Roques, to consult with Dr. Noguès—the physicians, I say, astonished by the peculiarity and the persistence of this difficulty, tried vainly to discover its precise nature, that they might apply a remedy. One day, it was the tenth of May—for I suffered so much, sir, and thought so much about this illness that I remembered every date—one day, I saw Jules in the garden running with unusual haste, and as it were precipitately. Now I dreaded the least agitation for him.
“‘Stop, Jules!’ cried I, going to him and taking his hand.
“He broke away immediately.
“‘Father, I cannot,’ said he. ‘I must run. It is stronger than I.’
“I took him in my lap, but his legs moved convulsively. Soon after the movement passed to his head and face.
“The true character of his disease had at last declared itself. My poor child was attacked by chorea. You are no doubt aware, sir, by what horrible contortions this disease is usually marked.”
“No,” said I, interrupting him, “I do not even know what it is.”
“It is what is often called St. Vitus’s dance.”
“Yes, I have heard of that. Go on.”
“The principal seat of the disease was in the œsophagus. The convulsions which I had just witnessed, and which were continued at all hours from that time, put an end to the perplexities of the physicians.