"But what is the matter?" asked the prince, holding out his hand to his
son, who staggered and swayed to and fro in spite of Malartic's efforts
to support him, and whose face was fairly livid.
"Nothing, father," answered Vallombreuse, in a scarcely articulate
voice, "nothing--only I am dying"--and he fell at full length on the
floor before the prince could clasp him in his arms, as he endeavoured
to do.
"He did not fall on his face," said Jacquemin Lampourde, sententiously;
"it's nothing but a fainting fit. He may escape yet. We duellists are
familiar with this sort of thing, my lord; a great deal more so than
most medical men, and you may depend upon what I say."
"A doctor! a doctor!" cried the prince, forgetting his anger as he saw
his son lying apparently lifeless at his feet. "Perhaps this man is
right, and there may be some hope for him yet. A fortune to whomsoever
will save my son!--my only son!--the last scion of a noble race. Go! run
quickly! What are you about there?--don't you understand me? Go, I say,
and run as fast as you can; take the fleetest horse in the stable."
Whereupon two of the imperturbable lackeys, who had held their torches
throughout this exciting scene without moving a muscle, hastened off
to execute their master's orders.
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