But what is the matter? You turn pale.
Do you suffer?"
"A little, M. l'Abbe. This long reading, the emotions caused by your kind
words, the indisposition from which I am suffering. Pardon my weakness,"
said Jacques Ferrand, seating himself as if in pain; "there is nothing
serious in it, but I am exhausted."
"Perhaps you had better go to bed," said the priest, with an air of lively
interest, "and send for your physician?"
"I am a physician, M. l'Abbe," said Polidori. "The situation of Ferrand
demands great care; I will give him all my attention."
The notary shuddered.
"A little repose will relieve you, I hope," said the cure. "I leave you;
but before I go, I wish to give you a receipt for this money. Come, take
courage, be of good cheer!" said the priest, handing the receipt, which he
wrote at the desk, to Jacques Ferrand. "Farewell; tomorrow I will call and
see you again. Adieu, sir--adieu, my friend, my worthy, pious friend!"
The priest went out, and Jacques Ferrand and Polidori remained alone.
Hardly had the abbe gone than Jacques Ferrand uttered a terrible
imprecation. His despair and rage, so long restrained, burst forth with
fury; breathless, his face convulsed, his eyes rolling in their sockets, he
walked up and down in the cabinet like a wild beast confined by a chain.
Polidori, presenting the greatest composure, observed the notary
attentively.
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