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at the Castle who has often looked after her
before, when she suffered from appendicitis.”
“With what result?”
He did not answer.
“May I in return,” I said, “ask you this
question? Suppose the Countess could be
suddenly cured of her colitis, could you make her
leave Paris?”
“Honestly speaking, no. But why this
supposition, since I understand that this disease is
of long duration and difficult to cure?”
“I could cure the Countess of her colitis in a
day.”
He looked at me stupefied.
“And why, in the name of All the Saints, don’t
you? You are incurring a tremendous
responsibility.”
“I am not afraid of responsibility, I would not
be here if I were. Now let us speak openly.
Yes, I could cure the Countess in a day, she no
more has colitis than you or I, nor has she ever
had appendicitis. It is all in her head, in her
nerves. If I took away her colitis from her too
rapidly, she might lose her mental balance
altogether, or take to something far worse, say,
morphia, or a lover. Whether I shall be able to
be of any use to the Countess remains to be seen.
To order the Countess to leave Paris now would
be a psychological error. She would probably
refuse and, once having dared to disobey me, her
confidence in me would be at an end. Give me a
fortnight and she will leave Paris by her own wish
—or at least she will think so. It is all a question
of tactics. To make the Count go alone would be
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