"You have been dreaming--you are
better."
"Yes--I am dreaming--let me sleep," answered the sick man, hardly
articulating the words.
And in a moment, he was asleep again. Taquisara listened to his
breathing, bending down a moment longer. Then he went softly away. He
himself slept a little, but it seemed long before the morning broke.
When it was broad daylight, Gianluca seemed better, for the deep sleep
had refreshed him. It was still very early, when the professor appeared
and paid him a long visit, asking a few questions at first and then
suddenly, beginning to talk of politics and the public news. Taquisara
left the room with him, and they stood together in Gianluca's
sitting-room.
"He is better, is he not?" asked the Sicilian, eagerly.
To his surprise the doctor shook his head and was silent a long time.
"I know nothing," he said, at last. "Nobody knows anything. Surgery is a
fine art, but medicine is witchcraft, or little better. You see, I
speak frankly. I can only give you my experience, and that may be worth
something. I have seen two cases of this kind in which, when the change
came, the patients partially recovered, and lived for several years,
paralyzed downwards from the point in the spine where the disease
begins. I have seen several cases where death has resulted rather
suddenly."
"And do you see a change coming?"
"Yes. It has begun already. Is he a devout man?"
"A religious man, at all events," answered Taquisara, gravely.
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