fine picture packed in it, as he painted in Naples."

What Dame Caterina said was, however, a falsehood; but we shall soon
see that she had good reasons for imposing upon the Doctor in this way.

"Good! Very good!" said the Doctor, simpering and stroking his beard;
then, with as much solemnity as his long rapier, which kept catching in
all the chairs and tables he came near, would allow, he approached the
sick man and felt his pulse, snorting and wheezing, so that it had a
most curious effect in the midst of the reverential silence which had
fallen upon all the rest. Then he ran over in Greek and Latin the names
of a hundred and twenty diseases that Salvator had not, then almost as
many which he might have had, and concluded by saying that on the spur
of the moment he didn't recollect the name of his disease, but that he
would within a short time find a suitable one for it, and along
therewith, the proper remedies as well. Then he took his departure with
the same solemnity with which he had entered, leaving them all full of
trouble and anxiety.

At the bottom of the steps the Doctor requested to see Salvator's box;
Dame Caterina showed him one--in which were two or three of her
deceased husband's cloaks now laid aside, and some old worn-out shoes.
The Doctor smilingly tapped the box, on this side and on that, and
remarked in a tone of satisfaction "We shall see! we shall see!" Some
hours later he returned with a very beautiful name for his patient's
disease, and brought with him some big bottles of an evil-smelling
potion, which he directed to be given to the patient constantly. This
was a work of no little trouble, for Salvator showed the greatest
aversion for--utter loathing of the stuff, which looked, and smelt, and
tasted, as if it had been concocted from Acheron itself. Whether it was
that the disease, since it had now received a name, and in consequence
really signified something, had only just begun to put forth its
virulence, or whether it was that Splendiano's potion made too much of
a disturbance inside the patient--it is at any rate certain that the
poor painter grew weaker and weaker from day to day, from hour to hour.
And notwithstanding Doctor Splendiano Accoramboni's assurance that,
after the vital process had reached a state of perfect equilibrium, he
would give it a new start like the pendulum of a clock, they were all
very doubtful as to Salvator's recovery, and thought that the Doctor
had perhaps a