"Fate" was
only a bogey to frighten children with. "Fate" was a coward's master.
Every man had the right to rough-hew his own life. He, Riviere, had
chosen his new life with eyes open, and, right or wrong, he would stick
by his choice and hew out his life on his own lines. If "Fate" were
indeed a reality, then he would fight it as he had fought Lars Larssen.
He would unknot the tangled threads at whatever cost to himself.
The doctor looked very grave when he had left Elaine's bedside the next
morning.
"The injuries are very serious," he told Riviere. "The cornea of the
right eye has almost been destroyed by the acid. It will heal over, but
the sight will not be as it was before."
"You mean blinded for life--in both eyes?" asked Riviere, ruthless for
his own feelings.
"We must not hope for too much," hedged the doctor. "A great deal
depends on the course of the recovery. I wish not to raise false
hopes...."
"You must pardon what I am going to say, doctor. I have every confidence
in your skill, but is it not possible that the help of an eye specialist
from Paris or Lyons might be of service?"
The doctor put false dignity aside and answered sympathetically: "You
are right, monsieur, a specialist _is_ needed. As soon as mademoiselle
can stand the long journey, I would advise that she be taken to
Wiesbaden, to the very greatest specialist in the world."
"You mean Hegelmann?"
"None other."
"It would not be possible for him to travel to here?"
The doctor shook his head decisively.
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