The visitor was the hotel manager, who respectfully announced that the doctor was ready for her. ‘And that Suzanne, the sister of my cousin the vicomte, must choose between Monsieur Charvill and her brother. God knows how you did it. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily.
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