For them one disease is as another.

'Bog dal e Bog vzial,' they say.

'God gave and God took!'" He paused, his black eyes flashing from one face to the other.
"Only the Moscow doctor, Excellency," he said significantly, "can manage them." Paul shrugged his shoulders.

He rose from his seat, glancing at Steinmetz, who was looking on in silence, with his queer, mocking smile.
"I will go with you now," he said.

"It is late enough already." The starosta bowed very low, but he said nothing.
Paul went to a cupboard and took from it an old fur coat, dragged at the seams, stained about the cuffs a dull brown--doctors know the color.
Such stains have hanged a man before now, for they are the marks of blood.