Baron Henry lay on the bed, his face a waxy, unnatural pale. He was completely still, his chest rising and falling in a shallow, barely perceptible rhythm. The doctor, a grim-faced man with spectacles on his tired eyes, finished his examination of the unconscious Baron.
Augusta stood by the bed, her own face a mask of false wifely concern. "Will he be able to wake up, Doctor?" she asked, her voice a perfect imitation of a worried wife.
"The Baron is in a comatose state," the doctor said, his voice low and professional as he began to pack his medical bag. "The shock of the fall, combined with his already fragile health, it seems it was all too much for his brain." He looked at Augusta with a pained, pitying expression. "As for when, or if, he will be able to wake up… that, Baroness, I am not certain of."
The doctor took his bag and left the room, leaving Augusta alone with her unconscious husband and her secret, triumphant thoughts.
