Bianchon suddenly appeared.
"I say, Eugene, I have just seen our head surgeon at the hospital, and
I ran all the way back here. If the old man shows any signs of reason,
if he begins to talk, cover him with a mustard poultice from the neck
to the base of the spine, and send round for us."
"Dear Bianchon," exclaimed Eugene.
"Oh! it is an interesting case from a scientific point of view," said
the medical student, with all the enthusiasm of a neophyte.
"So!" said Eugene. "Am I really the only one who cares for the poor
old man for his own sake?"
"You would not have said so if you had seen me this morning," returned
Bianchon, who did not take offence at this speech. "Doctors who have
seen a good deal of practice never see anything but the disease, but,
my dear fellow, I can see the patient still."
He went. Eugene was left alone with the old man, and with an
apprehension of a crisis that set in, in fact, before very long.
"Ah! dear boy, is that you?" said Father Goriot, recognizing Eugene.
"Do you feel better?" asked the law student, taking his hand.
"Yes. My head felt as if it were being screwed up in a vise, but now
it is set free again.
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