ain, but what there was seemed to spring from the old
wound; and there were whole days when he lay a mere wreck, without the
power or will to move; and when his feeble breath seemed passing away for
ever. Happily, these relapses occurred only at intervals, but by slow
degrees they became more frequent and more overwhelming. Madame Panpan's
skill and untiring perseverance grew to be, as other resources failed,
the main, and for many, many months, the whole support of the family.
Then came a time when the winter had passed away, and the spring was
already in its full, and still Panpan lay helpless in bed with shrunken
limbs and hollow, pallid cheeks,--and then little Henri was born.

Pere Panpan having arrived at this crisis in his history, drew a long
breath, and stretched himself back in his bed. I knew the rest. It was
soon after the event last named that I made his acquaintance, and the
remainder of his simple story, therefore, devolves upon me.

The debility of the once dashing soldier increased daily, and as it could
be traced to no definite cause, he gradually became a physiological
enigma; and thence naturally a pet of the medical profession. Not that
he was a profitable patient, for the necessities of the family were too
great to allow of so expensive a luxury as a doctor's bill; but urged,
partly by commiseration, and partly by professional curiosity, both
ardent students and methodical practitioners would crowd round his simple
bed, probing him with instruments, poking him with their fingers, and
punching him with their fists; each with a new theory to propound and
establish; and the more they were baffled and contradicted in their
preconceived notions, the more obstinate they became in their
enforcement. Panpan's own thoughts upon the subject always reverted to
the brass button, although he found few to listen to or encourage him in
his idea. His medical patrons were a constant source of suffering to
him, but he bore with them patiently; sometimes reviving from his
prostration as if inspired, then lapsing as suddenly into his old state
of semi-pain and total feebleness. As a last hope, he was removed from
his fourth floor in the Place Valois, to become an inmate of the Bicetre,
and a domiciled subject of contention and experiment to its medical
staff.

The Bicetre is a large, melancholy-looking building, half hospital half
madhouse, situated a few leagues from Paris. I took a distaste to it on
my ve