Days passed, and Edgar's mother fell ill. She died of a persistent fever three months after Angelica's scandalous marriage, the new Duchess. From that day on, Edgar never stopped wearing black.
He went to the cemetery whenever he could, between one lesson and the next. Then, doubt began to settle in. His mother had died of a fever, but what role did medicine play in all this?
"Do you know what your mother died from?" one of his university friends asked him one day. "Do you know why the doctors couldn't cure her?"
"I don't know," he replied, feeling more helpless than ever. More helpless even than he had felt at Angelica's wedding.
"Medicine, after all, isn't miraculous," another friend added.
"No, it's not."
"But what's the point of studying if you just watch others fade away?" Edgar wondered.
"Death is an inevitable passage for all."
"But my mother was only 49. She was still young. She had nothing wrong with her just a few months ago..."
"I know, my friend, death is merciless."
"At this point, I don't want to study medicine anymore," Edgar declared.
"Now, don't be foolish. You're the best we have in our faculty."
"Yes, Stephen is right. If you quit, who will be left to carry on?"
"I just want to leave."
"You're old enough to make your own choice, but don't do it..."
"I've already made up my mind. Until my mother comes back from the dead, I will never step foot in this faculty again."
"You know that will never happen."
"Then, goodbye," and Edgar walked out of the building.