“The Duke of G. has not gone to London,” says the great physician, while examining Caroline’s skin, “and there’s a good deal to be said about it in the Faubourg St. Germain.” “Have you patients there?” asks Caroline. “Nearly all my patients are there. Dear me, yes; I’ve got seven to see this morning; some of them are in danger.” “What do you think of me, sir?” says Caroline. “Madame, you need attention, a great deal of attention, you must take quieting liquors, plenty of syrup of gum, a mild diet, white meat, and a good deal of exercise.” “There go twenty francs,” says Adolphe to himself with a smile. The great physician takes Adolphe by the arm, and draws him out with him, as he takes his leave: Caroline follows them on tiptoe. “My dear sir,” says the great physician, “I have just prescribed very insufficiently for your wife. I did not wish to frighten her: this affair concerns you more nearly than you imagine. Don’t neglect her; she has a powerful temperament, and enjoys violent health; all this reacts upon her. Nature has its laws, which, when disregarded, compel obedience. She may get into a morbid state, which would cause you bitterly to repent having neglected her. If you love her, why, love her: but if you don’t love her, and nevertheless desire to preserve the mother of your children, the resolution to come to is a matter of hygiene, but it can only proceed from you!” “How well he understand me!” says Caroline to herself. She opens the door and says: “Doctor, you did not write down the doses!” The great physician smiles, bows and slips the twenty franc piece into his pocket; he then leaves Adolphe to his wife, who takes him and says: “What is the fact about my condition? Must I prepare for death?” “Bah! He says you’re too healthy!” cries Adolphe, impatiently. Caroline retires to her sofa to weep. “What is it, now?” “So I am to live a long time--I am in the way--you don’t love me any more--I won’t consult that doctor again--I don’t know why Madame Foullepointe advised me to see him, he told me nothing but trash--I know better than he what I need!” “What do you need?” “Can you ask, ungrateful man?” and Caroline leans her head on Adolphe’s shoulder. Adolphe, very much alarmed, says to himself: “The doctor’s right, she may get to be morbidly exacting, and then what will become of me? Here I am compelled to choose between Caroline’s physical extravagance, or some young cousin or other.” Meanwhile Caroline sits down and sings one of Schubert’s melodies with all the agitation of a hypochondriac. PART SECOND PREFACE