“No, Madame la Duchesse,” answered one of the Paris miracle-workers who had heard, stepping to her side. “That will pass, however; it is merely the effect of shock.” “And,” she ventured, with great pleading eyes raised to his cold, clear ones, “will the--the injury be hard to heal?” The man of science did not reply at once. He was of the opinion that unpleasant news is worse than useless to communicate to the great of this world; a delicate coat of fine gold should, according to him, always mask the bitterness of the pill; but the hardening of her gaze made him attend, and quickly. “_Pas de bêtises, docteur_,” she said, harshly. “I want the truth. We are responsible, my husband and I, so pray don’t shilly-shally; speak out.” “Believe me, Madame la Duchesse, nothing is further from my mind than to lead you astray.” There was a fine curl of deprecation on his thin upper lip. “But before my learned colleague and I have been enabled to take counsel together a decision on my part would be--er--premature--even discourteous, I may add.” Tatiana’s slim foot tapped the granite floor impatiently. “How long will it take you to come to a--courteous understanding?” she demanded, taking a lightning-like distaste for this frigid person who was attempting to overawe her at ten thousand francs an hour. Fortunately the eminent _confrère_, more tactful, and a man of the world, had listened with one ear, and now joined them. “I think, Madame la Duchesse,” he said, urbanely, “that a secret consultation is scarcely needed.” The throwing of dust in his client’s eyes, be they ever so _erhaben_--as the Germans call it--was not his habit. He posed, on the contrary, for a _docteur tant-mieux_--an optimist of the finest orient, scorning the school of the _tant-pis_ medical man; and his critical mind could not but acknowledge that his colleague was exhibiting the bedside manner of a half-frozen frog, so, throwing a considerable amount of warmth into a tone already sympathetic, he resumed: “I understand, Madame la Duchesse, that this gentleman is not related either to yourself or to Monsieur le Duc?” “No,” she snapped. “It makes our task easier, of course, in telling you that violent contact with a hard substance has caused a deep-seated injury--to the lumbar vertebræ; in fact, I need not explain that this is extremely serious.” “Is there any hope of recovery?” she asked, feeling herself get dry-lipped at the horror of this condemnation. “None at all!” the cheerful doctor asserted. And just then from the bed came the poor, brainless voice. “I tell you, Loris--jump.... Don’t be afraid--you wanted this, you know.... I’d always hoped it might one day be said of me that I’d lived clean. I wasn’t straitlaced as if I’d swallowed the Statue of Liberty up to her manly bosom. But it’s too late now--there’s no time.... Jump, Laurence--_jump_! I can tuck you under my arm.... Are you still afraid?... Don’t you believe in a free United States--”