"My God! no," said the doctor quietly; "and, to commence, since you do not wish me to disguise the truth, I will tell you that, if Jeanne Ragaud does not recover her senses to-night, she will be dead to-morrow at twelve o'clock."
"But you are a monster!" cried mademoiselle, the tears streaming from her eyes. "How can you be so hard-hearted as to tell me such news without any preparation?"
"There!" said the doctor, "you are off again. I thought you wished me to tell you the whole truth."
"My poor Jeanne! Dead to-morrow!" sobbed mademoiselle.
"One moment—pay attention to what I say—if she does not recover her senses to-night; but she will, for she was already a little better before I left Muiceron."
"Oh! I wish you would go away!" cried mademoiselle. "I hate to hear you talk; you will set me wild.... Come now, doctor, speak seriously: is poor dear Jeannette really in danger?"
"I tell you yes, but I have great hope. And now I am going away; you are not angry with me, dear mademoiselle?"
"I will have to forgive you," said she, giving him her hand; "but know well that I detest you from the bottom of my heart, and, when I am sick, I will send for another doctor."
"Bah! I bet you won't," replied M. Aubry, perfectly unmoved; "you are so amiable and gentle when the fever comes on!"
Mademoiselle laughed through her tears; she knew from experience it was not easy to have the last word with M. Aubry, and she let him go without further discussion.