Robson begged leave to send for the kind
apothecary who had attended her deceased son. In this instance only
she found the count obstinate, no arguments, nor even tears, could
move him to assent. When she stood weeping, and holding his burning
hand, his answer was constantly the same.
"My excellent Mrs. Robson, do not grieve on my account; I am not in
the danger you think; I shall do very well with your assistance."
"No, no; I see death in your eyes. Can I feel this hand and see that
hectic cheek without beholding your grave, as it were, opening before
me?"
She was not much mistaken; for during the night after this debate
Thaddeus grew so delirious that, no longer able to subdue her
terrors, she sent for the apothecary to come instantly to her house.
"Oh, doctor!" cried she, while he ascended the stairs, "I have the
best young gentleman ever the sun shone on dying in that room! He
would not let me send for you; and now he is raving like a mad
creature."
Mr. Vincent entered the count's humble apartment, and undrew the
curtains of the bed. Exhausted by delirium, Thaddeus had sunk
senseless on his pillow. At this sight, supposing him dead, Mrs.
Robson uttered a shriek, which was echoed by the cries of the little
William, who stood near his grandmother.
"Hush! my good woman," said the doctor; "the gentleman is not dead.
Leave the room till you have recovered yourself, and I will engage
that you shall see him alive when you return.
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