I do not repeat my words, for my intention was conveyed
more in accent, emphasis, and manner, than speech. I hinted to him
that he had another wife living. I suggested that this was
balanced--ha!--by his wife's lover. That, possibly, he wished to
fly; hence the letting of his delightful mansion. That he
regularly and systematically beat his wife in the English manner,
and that she repeatedly deceived me. I talked of hope, of
consolation, of remedy. I carelessly produced a bottle of
strychnine and a small vial of stramonium from my pocket, and
enlarged on the efficiency of drugs. His face, which had gradually
become convulsed, suddenly became fixed with a frightful
expression. He started to his feet, and roared: "You d--d
Frenchman!"
I instantly changed my tactics, and endeavored to embrace him. He
kicked me twice, violently. I begged permission to kiss madame's
hand. He replied by throwing me down stairs.
I am in bed with my head bound up, and beef-steaks upon my eyes,
but still confident and buoyant. I have not lost faith in
Macchiavelli. Tra la la! as they sing in the opera. I kiss
everybody's hands.
CHAPTER V.
DR. DIGGS'S STATEMENT.
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