No remnant of his careless self-possession, his easy, patrician affability, appeared in his manner, as he now listened to his companion's conversation; years seemed to have been added to his life since he had headed the table at 'The Banquet of Famine'.
'Yes,' said the physician, a cold, calm man, who spoke much, but pronounced all his words with emphatic deliberation,--'Yes, as I have already told you, the wound in itself was not mortal.

If the blade of the knife had entered near the centre of the neck, she must have died when she was struck.

But it passed outwards and backwards; the large vessels escaped, and no vital part has been touched.' 'And yet you persist in declaring that you doubt her recovery!' exclaimed Vetranio, in low, mournful tones.
'I do,' pursued the physician.

'She must have been exhausted in mind and body when she received the blow--I have watched her carefully; I know it! There is nothing of the natural health and strength of youth to oppose the effects of the wound.

I have seen the old die from injuries that the young recover, because life in them was losing its powers of resistance; she is in the position of the old!' 'They have died before me, and she will die before me! I shall lose all--all!' sighed Vetranio bitterly to himself.
'The resources of our art are exhausted,' continued the other; 'nothing remains but to watch carefully and wait patiently.