No remnant of his
careless self-possession, his easy, patrician affability, appeared in
his manner, as he now listened to his companion's conversation; years
seemed to have been added to his life since he had headed the table at
'The Banquet of Famine'.
'Yes,' said the physician, a cold, calm man, who spoke much, but
pronounced all his words with emphatic deliberation,--'Yes, as I have
already told you, the wound in itself was not mortal. If the blade of
the knife had entered near the centre of the neck, she must have died
when she was struck. But it passed outwards and backwards; the large
vessels escaped, and no vital part has been touched.'
'And yet you persist in declaring that you doubt her recovery!'
exclaimed Vetranio, in low, mournful tones.
'I do,' pursued the physician. 'She must have been exhausted in mind
and body when she received the blow--I have watched her carefully; I
know it! There is nothing of the natural health and strength of youth
to oppose the effects of the wound. I have seen the old die from
injuries that the young recover, because life in them was losing its
powers of resistance; she is in the position of the old!'
'They have died before me, and she will die before me! I shall lose
all--all!' sighed Vetranio bitterly to himself.
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