t
the stove, while he cast a scrutinizing glance about the room. Then he
began his rounds, followed by a boy carrying the cards of admission to
the different hospitals. What joy for the poor wretches when they were
pronounced sick enough to receive a ticket. What disappointment, what
entreaties from those who were told that they must struggle on yet a
little longer! The examination was brief, and if it seemed somewhat
brutal at times, it must be remembered that the number of applicants was
very large, and that the poor creatures loved to linger over the recital
of their woes.

Finally the physician reached the stout man next to Jack. "And what is
the matter with you, sir?" he asked.

"My chest burns like fire," was the answer.

"Ah, your chest burns like fire, does it! Do you not sometimes drink too
much brandy?"

"Never, sir," answered the patient indignantly.

"Well, then, if you do not drink brandy, how about wine?"

"I drink what I want of that, of course."

"Ah, yes, I understand! You drink with your friends." %

"On pay-days I do, certainly."

"That is, you get drunk once in the week. Let me see your tongue."

When the physician reached Jack, he examined him attentively, asked his
age and how long he had been ill. Jack answered with much difficulty,
and while he spoke, Belisaire stood behind him with a face full of
anxiety.

"Stand up, my man," and the doctor applied his ear to the damp clothing
of the invalid. "Did you walk here?"

"Yes, sir."

"It is most extraordinary that you were able to do so, in the state
in which you are; but you must not try it again;" and he handed him a
ticket and passed on to continue his inspection.

Of all the thousand rapid and confused impressions that one receives
in the streets of Paris, do you remember any one more painful than
the sight of one of those litters, sheltered from the sun's rays by
a striped cover, and borne by two men, one behind and the other in
front,--the form of a human being vaguely defined under the linen
sheets? Women cross themselves when these litters pass them, as they do
when a crow flies over their heads.

Sometimes, a mother, a daughter, or a sister, walks at the side of the
sick man, their eyes swimming in tears at this last indignity to which
the poor are subjected. Jack thus lay, consoled by the sound of the
familiar tread of his faithful Belisaire, who occasionally took his hand
to prove to him that he was not completely deserte