e 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. He was all shaken up by this talking about the dreadful
riddle of his illness.

He calmed himself, and began to converse with the doctor, who let
himself down squarely into a chair, with an affable manner. He started
several topics, then in spite of himself returned to the sinister thing
he carried within him, his disease.

"Disgusting!" he said.

"Bah!" said the doctor, who was blase.

Then he rose.

"Well, till to-morrow!"

"Yes, for the consultation."

"Yes. Well, good-by!"

The doctor went out, lightly carrying the burden of misery and cruel
memories, the weight of which he had ceased to feel.

. . . . .

Evidently the consulting physicians had just finished their examination
of the patient in another room. The door opened, and two doctors
entered.

Their manner seemed to me to be stiff. One of them was a young man,
the other an old man.

They looked at each other. I tried to penetrate the silence of their
eyes and the night in their heads. The older man stroked his beard,
leaned against the mantelpiece, and stared at the ground.

"Hopeless," he said, lowering his voice, for fear of being overheard by
the patient.

The other nodded his head--in sign of agreement--of complicity, you might
say. Both men fell silent like two guilty children. Their eyes met
again.

"How old is he?"

"Fifty-three."

"Lucky to live so long," the young doctor remarked.

To which the old man retorted philosophically:

"Yes, indeed. But his luck won't hold out any longer."

A silence. The man with the grey beard murmured:

"I detected sarcoma." He put his finger on his neck. "Right here."

The other man nodded--his head seemed to be nodding continually--and
muttered:

"Yes. There's no possibility of operating."

"Of cour