"How is he, Maitre Laurent?" he breathed, in broken, scarcely audible
tones.
The surgeon put his finger to his lips, and with the other hand pointed
to the young duke's face-still raised a little on the pillows, and no
longer wearing its death-like look; then, with the light step habitual
with those who are much about the sick, he went over to the prince,
still standing on the threshold, and drawing him gently outside and
away from the door, said in a low voice, "Your highness can see that the
patient's condition, so far from growing worse, has decidedly improved.
Certainly he is not out of danger yet--his state is very critical--but
unless some new and totally unforeseen complication should arise,
which I shall use every effort to prevent, I think that we can pull him
through, and that he will be able to enjoy life again as if he had never
been hurt."
The prince's care-worn face brightened and his fine eyes flashed at
these hopeful words; he stepped forward to enter the sick-room, but
Maitre Laurent respectfully opposed his doing so.
"Permit me, my lord, to prevent your approaching your son's bedside just
now--doctors are often very disagreeable, you know, and have to impose
trying conditions upon those to whom their patients are dear.
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