Hilda,
forgive!"
"Was it a corner house of the Rue Princesse Marie?" asked Herter.
"Yes--yes, a corner house," groaned the boy of the beautiful face.
Herter gave a sign to the man who had brought the ether. A moment more,
and the ravings of the Bavarian were silenced. The operation began.
The others had their hands full of their own work, yet with a kind of
agonized clairvoyance they were conscious of all that Herter did. The
same thought was in the minds of both young doctors. They exchanged
impressions afterward. "He'll cut the boy's heart out and tread it
underfoot!"
But never had the Jewish surgeon from Metz performed a major operation
with more coolness or more perfect skill. Had he chosen to let his wrist
tremble at the critical second, revenge would easily have been his. But
awaiting the instant between one beat of the heart and another, he
seized the shred of shrapnel lodged there, and closed up the throbbing
breast. The boy would live. He had not only spared, but saved, the life
of one who was perhaps his mother's murderer.
During the whole day he worked on untiringly and--it seemed--unmoved.
Then, at the end of the last operation, he dropped as if he had been
shot through the brain.
This was the beginning of a long, peculiar illness which no doctor who
attended him could satisfactorily diagnose. He was constantly delirious,
repeating the words of the Bavarian: "Hilda--Hilda!--the corner
house--Rue Princesse Marie--Luneville!" and it was feared that, if he
recovered, he would be insane.
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