Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair.
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