That was the way with those specialists! When one got forty
francs for a consultation, naturally, one was glad to drag out
the case. There were tricks in the medical trade, as in all
others. A doctor had to live; when he had a big name, he had to
live expensively.
The new physician wrote out two prescriptions, and patted George
on the shoulder as he went away. There was no need for him to
worry; he would surely be well in three months. If he would put
off his marriage for six months, he would be doing everything
within reason. And meantime, there was no need for him to worry
himself--things would come out all right. So George went away,
feeling as if a mountain had been lifted from his shoulders.
He went to see Henriette that same evening, to get the matter
settled. "Henriette," he said, "I have to tell you something
very important--something rather painful. I hope you won't let
it disturb you too much."
She was gazing at him in alarm. "What is it?"
"Why," he said, blushing in spite of himself, and regretting that
he had begun the matter so precipitately, "for some time I've not
been feeling quite well. I've been having a slight cough. Have
you noticed it?"
"Why no!" exclaimed Henriette, anxiously.
"Well, today I went to see a doctor, and he says that there is a
possibility--you understand it is nothing very serious--but it
might be--I might possibly have lung trouble."
"George!" cried the girl in horror.
He put his hand upon hers.
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