"
However, in a few minutes peace was restored, and the Doctor
prescribed anew. After he had talked about quinine and cataplasms,
he asked me whether I had any appetite. A vision of the dining-room
came before me, and I shook my head. "Still," he urged, "it would be
well to eat something." And, turning to the hostess, "He had better
have a beefsteak and a glass of Marsala." The look of amazement with
which I heard this caught the Doctor's eye. "Don't you like
_bistecca_?" he inquired. I suggested that, for one in a very high
fever, with a good deal of lung congestion, beefsteak seemed a
trifle solid, and Marsala somewhat heating. "Oh!" cried he, "but we
must keep the machine going." And thereupon he took his genial
leave.
I had some fear that my hostess might visit upon me her resentment
of the Doctor's reproaches; but nothing of the kind. When we were
alone, she sat down by me, and asked what I should really like to
eat. If I did not care for a beefsteak of veal, could I eat a
beefsteak of mutton? It was not the first time that such a choice
had been offered me, for, in the South, _bistecca_ commonly means a
slice of meat done on the grill or in the oven.
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