The doctor got up, and went to him. "You must be a man," he said, "and not cry like a child.""But sir," cried the young man, with tears running down his cheeks, "if I had led a wild life, if I had passed my time in dissipation with chorus girls, then I could understand it. Then I would say that I had deserved it."The doctor exclaimed with emphasis, "No, no! You would not say it. However, it is of no matter--go on.""I tell you that I would say it. I am honest, and I would say that I had deserved it. But no, I have worked, I have been a regular grind. And now, when I think of the shame that is in store for me, the disgusting things, the frightful catastrophes to which I am condemned--""What is all this you are telling me?" asked the doctor, laughing.
"Oh, I know, I know!" cried the other, and repeated what his friend had told him about the man in a wheel-chair. "And they used to call me handsome Raoul! That was my name--handsome Raoul!""Now, my dear sir," said the doctor, cheerfully, "wipe your eyes one last time, blow your nose, put your handkerchief into your pocket, and hear me dry-eyed."George obeyed mechanically. "But I give you fair warning," he said, "you are wasting your time.""I tell you--" began the other.
"I know exactly what you are going to tell me!" cried George.
"Well, in that case, there is nothing more for you to do here--run along."
"Since I am here," said the patient submissively, "I will hear you.""Very well, then. I tell you that if you have the will and the perseverance, none of the things you fear will happen to you.""Of course, it is your duty to tell me that.""I will tell you that there are one hundred thousand like you in Paris, alert, and seemingly well. Come, take what you were just saying--wheel-chairs. One doesn't see so many of them.""No, that's true," said George.
"And besides," added the doctor, "a good many people who ride in them are not there for the cause you think. There is no more reason why you should be the victim of a catastrophe than any of the one hundred thousand. The disease is serious, nothing more.""You admit that it is a serious disease?" argued George.
"Yes."
"One of the most serious?"
"Yes, but you have the good fortune--"
"The GOOD fortune?"
"Relatively, if you please. You have the good fortune to be infected with one of the diseases over which we have the most certain control.""Yes, yes," exclaimed George, "but the remedies are worse than the disease.""You deceive yourself," replied the other.
"You are trying to make me believe that I can be cured?""You can be."
"And that I am not condemned?"
"I swear it to you."
"You are not deceiving yourself, you are not deceiving me? Why, I was told--"The doctor laughed, contemptuously. "You were told, you were told! I'll wager that you know the laws of the Chinese concerning party-walls.""Yes, naturally," said George. "But I don't see what they have to do with it.""Instead of teaching you such things," was the reply, "it would have been a great deal better to have taught you about the nature and cause of diseases of this sort. Then you would have known how to avoid the contagion. Such knowledge should be spread abroad, for it is the most important knowledge in the world. It should be found in every newspaper."This remark gave George something of a shock, for his father had owned a little paper in the provinces, and he had a sudden vision of the way subscribers would have fallen off, if he had printed even so much as the name of this vile disease.
"And yet," pursued the doctor, "you publish romances about adultery!""Yes," said George, "that's what the readers want.""They don't want the truth about venereal diseases," exclaimed the other. "If they knew the full truth, they would no longer think that adultery was romantic and interesting."He went on to give his advice as to the means of avoiding such diseases. There was really but one rule. It was: To love but one woman, to take her as a virgin, and to love her so much that she would never deceive you. "Take that from me," added the doctor, "and teach it to your son, when you have one."George's attention was caught by this last sentence.
"You mean that I shall be able to have children?" he cried.
"Certainly," was the reply.
"Healthy children?"
"I repeat it to you; if you take care of yourself properly for a long time, conscientiously, you have little to fear.""That's certain?"
"Ninety-nine times out of a hundred."
George felt as if he had suddenly emerged from a dungeon. "Why, then," he exclaimed, "I shall be able to marry!""You will be able to marry," was the reply.
"You are not deceiving me? You would not give me that hope, you would not expose me? How soon will I be able to marry?""In three or four years," said the doctor.
"What!" cried George in consternation. "In three or four years?
Not before?"
"Not before."
"How is that? Am I going to be sick all that time? Why, you told me just now--"Said the doctor: "The disease will no longer be dangerous to you, yourself--but you will be dangerous to others.""But," the young man cried, in despair, "I am to be married a month from now.""That is impossible."
"But I cannot do any differently. The contract is ready! The banns have been published! I have given my word!""Well, you are a great one!" the doctor laughed. "Just now you were looking for your revolver! Now you want to be married within the month.""But, Doctor, it is necessary!"
"But I forbid it."
"As soon as I knew that the disease is not what I imagined, and that I could be cured, naturally I didn't want to commit suicide.
And as soon as I make up my mind not to commit suicide, I have to take up my regular life. I have to keep my engagements; I have to get married.""No," said the doctor.
"Yes, yes!" persisted George, with blind obstinacy. "Why, Doctor, if I didn't marry it would be a disaster. You are talking about something you don't understand. I, for my part--it is not that I am anxious to be married. As I told you, I had almost a second family. Lizette's little brothers adored me.