CHAPTER IX.
Some one knocked at the door.
It was time for the doctor.

The sick man raised himself uncertainly in awe of the master.
"How have you been to-day ?" "Bad." "Well, well," the doctor said lightly.
They were left alone together.

The man dropped down again with a slowness and awkwardness that would have seemed ridiculous if it had not been so sad.

The doctor stood between us.
"How has your heart been behaving ?" By an instinct which seemed tragic to me, they both lowered their voices, and in a low tone the sick man gave his daily account of the progress of his malady.
The man of science listened, interrupted, and nodded his head in approval.

He put an end to the recital by repeating his usual meaningless assurances, in a raised voice now and with his usual broad gesture.
"Well, well, I see there's nothing new." He shifted his position and I saw the patient, his drawn features and wild eyes.