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appendicitis, nor did Monsieur le Docteur
lui-même, but soon she was sure that she had it, and
I that she had not. When I told her so with
unwise abruptness she became very agitated.
Professor Charcot had told her I was sure to find
out what was the matter with her and that I
would help her, and instead of that . . . she
burst into tears and I felt very sorry for her.
“What is the matter with me?” she sobbed,
stretching out her two empty hands towards me
with a gesture of despair.
“I will tell you if you promise to be calm.”
She ceased to cry instantly. Wiping the last
tears from her big eyes she said bravely:
“I can stand anything, I have already stood so
much, don’t be afraid, I am not going to cry any
more. What is the matter with me?”
“Colitis.”
Her eyes grew even larger than before, though
I would have thought that to be impossible.
“Colitis! That is exactly what I always
thought! I am sure you are right! Colitis!
Tell me what is Colitis?” I took good care to
avoid that question, for I did not know it myself,
nor did anybody else in those days. But I told
her it lasted long and was difficult to cure, and I
was right there. The Countess smiled amiably
at me. And her husband who said it was nothing
but nerves! She said there was no time to lose
and wanted to begin the cure at once, so it was
arranged she should come to Avenue de Villiers
twice a week. She returned the very next day,
and even I who was already getting accustomed
to sudden changes in my patients could not help
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