As the words passed his lips, a frightful contortion fastened itself on Oscar's face.
His eyes turned up hideously.
From head to foot his whole body was wrenched round, as if giant hands had twisted it, towards the right.
Before I could speak, he was in convulsions on the floor at his doctor's feet.
"Good God, what is this!" I cried out.
The doctor loosened his cravat, and moved away the furniture that was near him. That done, he waited—looking at the writhing figure on the floor.
"Can you do nothing more?" I asked.
He shook his head gravely. "Nothing more."
"What is it?"
"An epileptic fit."