"Bring the pine-apple, my good Anton; it is somewhere there, with the rest of the apparatus."
"Ha!" cried the doctor, as Anton produced the fruit, and the servant came in with a basket of wine; "a sweet Colossus, a remarkable specimen indeed! With your leave, I'll make the punch. The proportions must have some reference to the state of the patient."
So saying, the doctor put his hand into his pocket, and brought out a black case, in which he looked for a knife to cut the fruit.
The young hussars broke out at once into a volley of oaths.
"My good sirs," cried the doctor, little moved by the storm he had raised, "has any one of you got a knife? Not one, I know. There is nothing to be found in your pockets but looking-glasses and brushes; and which of you understands the making of a bowl that a man of the world can drink? You can, indeed, empty one, but make it you can not."
"I will try what I can do, doctor," said Bolling, from a corner.
"Ah! Herr von Bolling, are you here too?" replied the doctor, with a bow.
Bolling took the pine-apple, and carefully held it out of reach of the medical arm. "Come here, Anton," said he, "and take care that that monster of a doctor does not approach our punch with his dissecting-knife."
While these two were brewing, the doctor took out two packs of cards, and solemnly laid them on the table.
"None of your cards!" cried Eugene; "to-day, at least, let us be together without sinning."
"You can't," said the doctor, mockingly; "you'll be the first to touch them. I thought of nothing but a quiet game at whist, a game for pious hermits. Time, however, will show what you will make of these packs; there they lie by the candlesticks."
"Don't listen to the tempter," cried one of the lieutenants, laughing.
"Whoever touches the cards first shall forfeit a breakfast to the party," said another.
"Here is the punch," said Bolling, setting down the bowl. "Taste it, oh man of blood!"
"Raw!" pronounced the oracle; "it would be drinkable to-morrow evening."
While these gentlemen were disputing about the merits of the beverage, Eugene took up one of the packs of cards, and mechanically cut them. The doctor exclaimed, "Caught, I declare! He himself is the one to pay the forfeit." All laughed, and crowded round the table. "The bank, doctor," cried the officers, throwing him the cards. Soon other packs came out of other pockets; and the doctor laying a little heap of paper and silver on the table, the game began. The stakes were not high, and light jests accompanied the loss and gain of the players. Even Anton took a card and staked away without much thought. He found it difficult, though, to take any cordial part in the entertainment, and looked with sincere sympathy at young Rothsattel bending, in his ignorance, over the cards. He himself won a few dollars, but remarked with pain that Eugene was invariably unlucky. As, however, he was a party concerned in this, he made no remark; but the doctor himself said to his patient, after having again swept away the ducats the former had put down, "You are getting hot; you are feverish; if you are prudent, you will play no more. I have never yet had a fever-patient who did not lose at Pharao."