'The fever has passed.'
'So much for the wisdom of physicians!' exclaimed Venantius with a
laugh. 'That owl-eyed Aesernian who swears by Aesculapius that he
has studied at Constantinople, Antioch, and I know not where else,
whispered to me that you would never behold to-day's sunset. I
whispered to _him_ that he was an ass, and that if he uttered the
word _plague_ to any one in the house, I would cut his ears off.
Nevertheless, I had you put into this out-of-the-way room, that you
might not be disturbed by noises. Who'--he sniffed--'has been
burning perfumes?'
'My good fellow Felix. Though travel-worn and wounded, he has sat by
me all the time, and would only go to bed when I woke up with a cool
forehead.'
'A good fellow, indeed. His face spells honesty. I can't say so much
for that of a man I have just been talking with--a messenger of
your friend Marcian.'
The listener started as though he would leap out of bed. A rush of
colour to his cheeks banished the heavy, wan aspect which had partly
disguised him, and restored the comely visage of Basil. A messenger
from Marcian? he exclaimed.
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