If he could, if he dared to tell her this, he would be
happier. But, how did he know that a proud repulse did not await
him! Ah, that was the fear that controlled him; he could not bear to
part again from her as he had last done.
While he was thus engaged in reverie alone, a servant, whom he had
despatched on an errand, returned to say that General Harero was
very ill and confined to his bed; that some wounds he had
accidentally received in quelling some street affray had brought on
a burning and dangerous fever. On the receipt of this information
Lorenzo Bezan wrote a hasty note and despatched the servant once
more for a surgeon to come to his quarters; a demand that was
answered by the person sent for in a very few minutes. It was the
same surgeon who a few years before had so successfully attended
Bezan. The recognition between them was cordial and honest, while
the new lieutenant-general told him of General Harero's severe
illness, and expressed a wish for him to immediately attend the sick
man.
"But, General Bezan," said the surgeon, "you have little cause for
love to General Harero."
"That is true; but still I desire his recovery; and if you compass
it by good nursing and the power of your art, remember fifty
doubloons is your fee.
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