"Examine his pulse,
Corvisart; examine him carefully and tell me whether he has a fever, or
is insane."
Staps quietly stretched out his hand; Corvisart took it and laid his
fingers on the pulse. Silence reigned in the room. The marshals and
generals in full uniform surrounded the group; in the midst stood the
emperor, whose face was sadder to-day than usual; at his side was Staps,
with his gentle countenance and radiant look turned toward heaven, his
right hand resting in that of the physician, who marked every pulsation
with profound attention.
It was a scene worthy an artist's pencil. All were looking at the
physician and waited breathlessly for his decision.
"Sire," said Corvisart, after a long pause, "this young man is in
perfectly good health; his pulse is regular; there is nothing indicative
of insanity in his eyes; his complexion is good, and in fact there is
nothing in his appearance to denote the slightest indisposition."
"Ah," exclaimed Staps, with a triumphant smile, "you see that I was
right. I am neither insane nor ill."
Napoleon stamped with anger, as his eyes flashed fire. "He is insane,
Corvisart!" he exclaimed; "examine him again."
Corvisart, did so, and in a short time said: "Sire, I cannot but repeat
my previous statement; I do not find a trace of fever or insanity. His
pulse is perfectly regular."
"Well, then," said Napoleon, frowning, "this healthy person just tried
to assassinate me!"
"Assassinate you!" ejaculated Corvisart in dismay.
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