hen the
master's away the servants neglect their duty; I will come for you
by-and-by."

I entered, more desirous of seeing the young lady than the count her
father; I was blaming myself for my remissness, but there is no
controlling one's interest and affections. I was much surprised to
see in the half-light of the alcove the reclining figure of the count
leaning upon his elbow and observing me with profound attention. I was
so little prepared for this examination that I stood rather dispossessed
of self-command.

"Come nearer, monsieur le docteur," he said in a weak but firm voice,
holding out his hand. "My faithful Sperver has often mentioned your name
to me; and I was anxious to make your acquaintance."

"Let us hope, my lord, that it will be continued under more favourable
circumstances. A little patience, and we shall avert this attack."

"I think not," he replied. "I feel my time drawing near."

"You are mistaken, my lord."

"No; Nature grants us, as a last favour, to have a presentiment of our
approaching end."

"How often I have seen such presentiments falsified!" I said with a
smile.

He fixed his eyes searchingly upon me, as is usual with patients
expressing anxiety about their prospects. It is a difficult moment for
the doctor. The moral strength of his patient depends upon the expression
of the firmness of his convictions; the eye of the sufferer penetrates
into the innermost soul of his consciousness; if he believes that he can
discover any hint or shade of doubt, his fate is sealed; depression sets
in; the secret springs that maintain the elasticity of the spirit give
way, and the disorder has it all its own way.

I stood my examination firmly and successfully, and the count seemed to
regain confidence; he again pressed my hand, and resigned himself calmly
and confidently to my treatment.

Not until then did I perceive Mademoiselle Odile and an old lady, no
doubt her governess, seated by her bedside at the other end of the
alcove.

They silently saluted me, and suddenly the picture in the library
reappeared before me.

"It is she," I said, "Hugh's first wife. There is the fair and noble
brow, there are the long lashes, and that sad, unfathomable smile. Oh,
how much past telling lies in a woman's smile! Seek not, then, for
unmixed joy and pleasure! Her smile serves but to veil untold sorrows,
anxiety for the future, even heartrending cares. The maid, the wife, the
mother, smile and smile, e