I treated her as if
she had human sympathies, in the hope that they might be generated somehow.
'Was there not a doctor from London with him a few months ago? Dr. Bryerly,
I think they call him.'
'Yes, a Doctor Bryerly, who remained a few days. Shall we begin to walk
towards home, Madame? Do, pray.'
'Immediately, cheaile; and does your father suffer much?'
'No--I think not.'
'And what then is his disease?'
'Disease! he has _no_ disease. Have you heard anything about his health,
Madame?' I said, anxiously.
'Oh no, ma foi--I have heard nothing; but if the doctor came, it was not
because he was quite well.'
'But that doctor is a doctor in theology, I fancy. I know he is a
Swedenborgian; and papa is so well, he _could_ not have come as a
physician.'
'I am very glad, ma chere, to hear; but still you know your father is
old man to have so young cheaile as you. Oh, yes--he is old man, and so
uncertain life is. 'As he made his will, my dear? Every man so rich as he,
especially so old, aught to 'av made his will.'
'There is no need of haste, Madame; it is quite time enough when his health
begins to fail.
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