Doctor Albert has tried in vain to cure it.

The count would give half his fortune if he had a chest like mine," said Oscar, swelling himself out.

"He lives a lonely life in his own house; gets up very early in the morning and works from three to eight o'clock; after eight he takes his remedies,--sulphur-baths, steam-baths, and such things.

His valet bakes him in a sort of iron box--for he is always in hopes of getting cured." "If he is such a friend of the King as they say he is, why doesn't he get his Majesty to touch him ?" asked Georges.
"The count has lately promised thirty thousand francs to a celebrated Scotch doctor who is coming over to treat him," continued Oscar.
"Then his wife can't be blamed if she finds better--" said Schinner, but he did not finish his sentence.
"I should say so!" resumed Oscar.

"The poor man is so shrivelled and old you would take him for eighty! He's as dry as parchment, and, unluckily for him, he feels his position." "Most men would," said Pere Leger.
"He adores his wife and dares not find fault with her," pursued Oscar, rejoicing to have found a topic to which they listened.