Halpersohn, who for five or six years was called a quack on account of his powders and herb medicines, had the innate science of a great physician.  Not only had he studied much and observed much, but he had travelled in every part of Germany, Russia, Persia, and Turkey, whence he had gathered many a traditionary secret; and as he knew chemistry he became a living volume of those wonderful recipes scattered among the wise women, or, as the French call them, the bonnes femmes, of every land to which his feet had gone, following his father, a perambulating trader.

It must not be thought that the scene in “The Talisman” where Saladin cures the King of England is a fiction.  Halpersohn possesses a silk purse which he steeps in water till the liquid is slightly colored; certain fevers yield immediately when the patient has drunk the prescribed dose of it.  The virtue of plants, according to his man, is infinite, and the cure of the worst diseases possible.  Nevertheless, he, like the rest of his professional brethren, stops short at certain incomprehensibilities.  Halpersohn approved of the invention of homoeopathy, more on account of its therapeutics than for its medical system; he was corresponding at this time with Hedenius of Dresden, Chelius of Heidelburg, and the celebrated German doctors, all the while holding his hand closed, though it was full of discoveries.  He wished for no pupils.

The frame was in keeping with this embodiment of a Rembrandt picture.  The study, hung with a paper imitating green velvet, was shabbily furnished with a green divan, the cover of which was threadbare.  A worn-out green carpet was on the floor.  A large armchair of black leather, intended for clients, stood before the window, which was draped with green curtains.  A desk chair of Roman shape, made in mahogany and covered with green morocco, was the doctor’s own seat.

Between the fireplace and the long table at which he wrote, a common iron safe stood against the wall, and on it was a clock of Viennese granite, surmounted by a group in bronze representing Cupid playing with Death, the present of a great German sculptor whom Halpersohn had doubtless cured.  On the mantel-shelf was a vase between two candlesticks, and no other ornament.  On either side of the divan were corner-buffets of ebony, holding plates and dishes, and Godefroid also noticed upon them two silver bowls, glass decanters, and napkins.

This simplicity, which amounted almost to bareness struck Godefroid, whose quick eye took it all in as he recovered his self-possession.

“Monsieur, I am, as you say, perfectly well myself; I have come on behalf of a woman to whom you were asked to pay a visit some time ago.  She lives on the boulevard du Mont-Parnasse.”

“Ah! yes; the lady who has sent her son here several times.  Well, monsieur, let her come here to me.”

“Come here!” repeated Godefroid, indignantly.  “Monsieur, she cannot even be moved from her bed to a chair; they lift her with pulleys.”