The Baron and the
Countess look at each other in silence. No words are needed.
They thoroughly understand the position in which they are placed;
they clearly see the terrible remedy for it. What is the plain
alternative before them? Disgrace and ruin--or, my Lord's death
and the insurance money!
'The Baron walks backwards and forwards in great agitation,
talking to himself. The Countess hears fragments of what he is saying.
He speaks of my Lord's constitution, probably weakened in India--
of a cold which my Lord has caught two or three days since--
of the remarkable manner in which such slight things as colds
sometimes end in serious illness and death.
'He observes that the Countess is listening to him, and asks if she
has anything to propose. She is a woman who, with many defects,
has the great merit of speaking out. "Is there no such thing
as a serious illness," she asks, "corked up in one of those bottles
of yours in the vaults downstairs?"
'The Baron answers by gravely shaking his head. What is he afraid of?--
a possible examination of the body after death? No: he can
set any post-mortem examination at defiance.
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