The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1895-03-13
THE DOCTORS PROPHECY

Awakening from state of lethargy,
Comte Raymond de Villemere beheld
his doctor gazing on him sadly.
Saved once more!" breathed the
comte. and he smiled as he stretched out
his arms.
"My poor friend" sighed the doctor.
The sick man stared aghast.
"Pu1 yourself together" he con-
tinued. "You are man who can stand
the truth"
"What do you meanp"
your symptoms are those of the
Mona"
"Of what?"
"a curious plague. When the state
of lethargy is over the patient has three
lucid hours, at the end of which he dies
suddenly"
"Whewi"
"Now, look here, keep your spirits up,
like the plucky fellow you are. After
all is said and done, life is not worth
living for. Good-by-good-by, my poor
friend-good-by."
Ten minutes later the comte had
risen. Clad in his flannel smoking
jacket, he was putting the last touches
to his toilet. The doctor had withdrawn
that his friSld might have time to settle
his worldly affairs.
When he had done brushing his
mustache and smoothing his finger nails
Raymond chose one of his driest cigars
and lit it, while casting a sorrowful look
at the others-those which he was not
to smoke. Then he threw himself on
his divan and began to reflect.
However brave he I11inht ho hnXu-
ever fearless of death, Comte de Vile
mere soon came to the conclusion that
his case was peculiarly aggraVating g
one.
The day before, so soon as he was
taken with fever-he had made up his
mind to prepare for the worst-he had
sent for his lawyer and for a priest and
destroyed all his letters. Then he had
laid down his giddy head and fallen
asleep with the conviction tBat he
would not awake again before dooms-
day.
But now he was like condemned
man who, after having made sure of q
reprieve found himself suddenly on the
way to the scaffold.
Outside the CHEEKY atmosphere of q
bright June day. the Champs Elysees
were alive with continuing stream OF
smart carriages. Everything spoke OF
happiness and health. He himself had
never felt so fit. And he was asked to
believe that tomorrow there would be
nothing left of all this, so far as he was
concerned, but mournful crowd of
friends, a trip in a slow, jolting hearse,
and the mumbling priest before an open
grave!
Tomorrow the joys and friendly ties
OF his whole life would be gone forever.
While he was finishing his cigar, re-
clining listlessly on the cushions of his
divan, Raymond saw all his life fit past
him as in dream. Nearly forgotten
episodes of his childhood cropped up as
If they were quite recent; then, in rapid
succession, his mind dwelt on the many
times he had fallen in love between 15
and 25, until he came to the first month
of his married life.
How full of unmitigated Joy those
days had been! Raymond remembered
the minutest events of his honeymoon
or moons, spent in fun and frolic with
pleasant excursions, verging on bache-
lor's dissipation, and freaks which
made lively gossip for fashionable folk.
miration which his wife excited when
ever he took her, he was more madly
in love after his marriage than before.
possibility of such a thing could have
been seriously entertained by either OF
them. And all this passionate love had
been brought to an end by scandalous
separation, owing to blunder on his
part and rash escapade of the little
comtesse.
By mutual consent they had separat-
ed. Yet, strange to say, their love for
each other had continued. So far as the
world was concerned, their relations
were restricted to icy bows whenever
they met on the boulevards, but their
professed indifference foF each other
scarcely deceived their common friends.
The idea of dying without having seen
once more the woman he loved above
all others appeared preposterous to the
comte. Studied obstinacy and stern re-
solve seemed TO be altogether out OF
place when brought face to face with
everlasting separation.
What risk did he run now in attempt
ing a reconciliation, even if it were not
to succeed?
Raymond sprang TO his feet, and,
seating himself before his writing desk,
scribbled hurriedly short telegram and
sent it off by his valet.
He looked at his watch; he had two
hours more to ive-the comtesse would
have time to come.
Would she come? Would she be
touched by note containing a dying
mans farewell? Or, in the relentless
dignity of offended woman, would she
refuse to forgive, even under these
solemn circumstances?
The anguish of uncertainty, added to
the moral torture, made Raymond Vince
despita all his nerve aud Tesnl11tinn 10