lean against a buttress of St.
Rombault for support.

When he got home he tested the sight of his eye with a two-franc
piece on the green table-cloth, and found there was no mistake--a
portion of his remaining eye was stone-blind.

He spent a miserable night, and went next day to Louvain, to see the
oculist.

M. Noiret heard his story, arranged the dark room and the lamp,
dilated the right pupil with atropine, and made a minute examination
with the ophthalmoscope.

Then he became very thoughtful, and led the way to his library and
begged Barty to sit down; and began to talk to him very seriously
indeed, like a father--patting the while a small Italian greyhound
that lay and shivered and whined in a little round cot by the fire.

M. Noiret began by inquiring into his circumstances, which were not
nourishing, as we know--and Barty made no secret of them; then he
asked him if he were fond of music, and was pleased to hear that he
was, since it is such an immense resource; then he asked him if he
belonged to the Roman Catholic faith, and again was pleased.

"For"--said he--"you will need all your courage and all your
religion to hear and bear what it is my misfortune to have to tell
you. I hope you will have more fortitude than another young patient
of mine (also an artist) to whom I was obliged to make a similar
communication. He blew out his brains on my door-step!"

"I promise you I will not do that. I suppose I am going blind?"

"Helas! mon jeune ami! I grieve to say that the fatal disease,
congestion and detachment of the retina, which has so obstinately
and irrevocably destroyed your left eye, has begun its terrible work
on the right. We will fight for every inch of the way. But I fear I
must not give you any hope, after the careful examination I have
just made. It is my duty to be frank with you."

Then he said much about the will of God, and where true comfort was
to be found, at the foot of the Cross; in fact, he said all he ought
to have said according to his lights, as he fondled his little
greyhound--and finally took Barty to the door, which he opened for
him, most politely bowing with his black velvet skull-cap; and
pocketed his full fee (ten francs) with his usual grace of careless
indifference, and gently shut the door on him. There was nothing
else to do.

Barty stood there for some time, quite dazed; partly because his
pupil was so dilated he could hardly see--partly (he thinks) because
he in