en, accompanied it to the neighbouring
hospital of Saint Bartholomew. None of the crowd but the bearers and
he being admitted, the disabled man was soon laid on a table in a cool,
methodical way, and carefully examined by a surgeon who was as near at
hand, and as ready to appear as Calamity herself. 'He hardly knows an
English word,' said Clennam; 'is he badly hurt?'

'Let us know all about it first,' said the surgeon, continuing his
examination with a businesslike delight in it, 'before we pronounce.'

After trying the leg with a finger, and two fingers, and one hand and
two hands, and over and under, and up and down, and in this direction
and in that, and approvingly remarking on the points of interest to
another gentleman who joined him, the surgeon at last clapped the
patient on the shoulder, and said, 'He won't hurt. He'll do very well.
It's difficult enough, but we shall not want him to part with his leg
this time.' Which Clennam interpreted to the patient, who was full of
gratitude, and, in his demonstrative way, kissed both the interpreter's
hand and the surgeon's several times.

'It's a serious injury, I suppose?' said Clennam.

'Ye-es,' replied the surgeon, with the thoughtful pleasure of an artist
contemplating the work upon his easel. 'Yes, it's enough. There's a
compound fracture above the knee, and a dislocation below. They are
both of a beautiful kind.' He gave the patient a friendly clap on the
shoulder again, as if he really felt that he was a very good fellow
indeed, and worthy of all commendation for having broken his leg in a
manner interesting to science.

'He speaks French?' said the surgeon.

'Oh yes, he speaks French.'

'He'll be at no loss here, then.--You have only to bear a little pain
like a brave fellow, my friend, and to be thankful that all goes as
well as it does,' he added, in that tongue, 'and you'll walk again to
a marvel. Now, let us see whether there's anything else the matter, and
how our ribs are?'

There was nothing else the matter, and our ribs were sound. Clennam
remained until everything possible to be done had been skilfully and
promptly done--the poor belated wanderer in a strange land movingly
besought that favour of him--and lingered by the bed to which he was in
due time removed, until he had fallen into a doze. Even then he wrote a
few words for him on his card, with a promise to return to-morrow, and
left it to be given to him when he should awake. All these pro