have never dreamed that
I suffer untold misery. Five days ago, monsieur, the doctor who takes
care of my daughter, or rather I should say, observes her, told me that
he was unable to cure a disease the forms of which varied perpetually.
He says that neurotic patients are the despair of science, for
the causes of their conditions are only to be found in some as yet
unexplored system. He advised me to have recourse to a physician who has
been called a quack; but he carefully pointed out that this man was a
stranger, a Polish Jew, a refugee, and that the Parisian doctors were
extremely jealous of certain wonderful cures he had made, and also of
the opinion expressed by many that he is very learned and extremely
able. Only, Dr. Berton says, he is very exacting and overbearing. He
selects his patients, and will not allow an instant of his time to be
wasted; and he is--a communist! His name is Halpersohn. My grandson has
been twice to find him, but he is always too busy to attend to him; he
has not been to see us; I fully understand why."

"Why?" asked Godefroid.

"Because my grandson, who is sixteen years old, is even more shabbily
dressed than I am. Would you believe it, monsieur? I _dare_ not go to
that doctor; my clothes are so out of keeping with a man of my age and
dignity. If he saw the father as shabby as I am, and the boy even worse,
he might not give my daughter the needful attention; he would treat us
as doctors treat the poor. And think, my dear monsieur, that I love my
daughter for all the suffering she has caused me, just as I used to
love her for the joys I had in her. She has become angelic. Alas! she is
nothing now but a soul, a soul which beams upon her son and me; the body
no longer exists; she has conquered suffering. Think what a spectacle
for a father! The whole world, to my daughter, is within the walls of
her room. I keep it filled with flowers, for she loves them. She reads
a great deal; and when she has the use of her hands she works like a
fairy. She has no conception of the horrible poverty to which we are
reduced. This makes our household way of life so strange, so eccentric,
that we cannot admit visitors. Do you now understand me, monsieur? Can
you not see how impossible a neighbor is? I should have to ask for
so much forbearance from him that the obligation would be too heavy.
Besides, I have no time for friends; I educate my grandson, and I have
so much other work to do that I only sleep thre