CHAPTER V.

HARD QUESTIONS.

Dr. Sevier had a simple abhorrence of the expression of personal
sentiment in words. Nothing else seemed to him so utterly hollow as
the attempt to indicate by speech a regard or affection which was not
already demonstrated in behavior. So far did he keep himself aloof from
insincerity that he had barely room enough left to be candid.

"I need not see your wife any more," he said, as he went down the stairs
with the young husband at his elbow; and the young man had learned him
well enough not to oppress him with formal thanks, whatever might have
been said or omitted upstairs.

Madame Zenobie contrived to be near enough, as they reached the lower
floor, to come in for a share of the meagre adieu. She gave her hand
with a dainty grace and a bow that might have been imported from Paris.

Dr. Sevier paused on the front step, half turned toward the open door
where the husband still tarried. That was not speech; it was scarcely
action; but the young man understood it and was silent. In truth, the
Doctor himself felt a pang in this sort of farewell. A physician's way
through the world is paved, I have heard one say, with these broken
bits of other's lives, of all colors and all degrees of beauty. In
his reminiscences, when he can do no better, he gathers them up,
and, turning them over and over in the darkened chamber of his
retrospection, sees patterns of delight lit up by the softened rays of
bygone time. But even this renews the pain of separation, and Dr. Sevier
felt, right here at this door-step, that, if this was to be the last of
the Richlings, he would feel the twinge of parting every time they came
up again in his memory.

He looked at the house opposite,--where there was really nothing to look
at,--and at a woman who happened to be passing, and who was only like a
thousand others with whom he had nothing to do.

"Richling," he said, "what brings you to New Orleans, any way?"

Richling leaned his cheek against the door-post.

"Simply seeking my fortune, Doctor."

"Do you think it is here?"

"I'm pretty sure it is; the world owes me a living."

The Doctor looked up.

"When did you get the world in your debt?"

Richling lifted his head pleasantly, and let one foot down a step.

"It owes me a chance to earn a living, doesn't it?"

"I dare say," replied the other; "that's what it generally owes."

"That's all I ask of it," said Richling; "if it will let us alone we'l