I
have to announce a discovery to-morrow to the College of Medicine, for
I am studying a disease that had disappeared--a mortal disease for
which no cure is known in temperate climates, though it is curable in
the West Indies--a malady known here in the Middle Ages. A noble fight
is that of the physician against such a disease. For the last ten days
I have thought of nothing but these cases--for there are two, a
husband and wife.--Are they not connections of yours? For you, madame,
are surely Monsieur Crevel's daughter?" said he, addressing Celestine.
"What, is my father your patient?" asked Celestine. "Living in the Rue
Barbet-de-Jouy?"
"Precisely so," said Bianchon.
"And the disease is inevitably fatal?" said Victorin in dismay.
"I will go to see him," said Celestine, rising.
"I positively forbid it, madame," Bianchon quietly said. "The disease
is contagious."
"But you go there, monsieur," replied the young woman. "Do you think
that a daughter's duty is less binding than a doctor's?"
"Madame, a physician knows how to protect himself against infection,
and the rashness of your devotion proves to me that you would probably
be less prudent than I."
Celestine, however, got up and went to her room, where she dressed to
go out.
"Monsieur," said Victorin to Bianchon, "have you any hope of saving
Monsieur and Madame Crevel?"
"I hope, but I do not believe that I may," said Bianchon. "The case is
to me quite inexplicable.
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