ll, making native cigarettes. Ata pointed to the door.
The doctor, wondering irritably why they behaved so strangely,
entered, and there found Strickland cleaning his palette.
There was a picture on the easel. Strickland, clad only in a
<i pareo>, was standing with his back to the door, but he
turned round when he heard the sound of boots. He gave the
doctor a look of vexation. He was surprised to see him, and
resented the intrusion. But the doctor gave a gasp, he was
rooted to the floor, and he stared with all his eyes.
This was not what he expected. He was seized with horror.

"You enter without ceremony," said Strickland. "What can I do
for you?"

The doctor recovered himself, but it required quite an effort
for him to find his voice. All his irritation was gone, and
he felt -- <i eh bien, oui, je ne le nie pas> -- he felt an
overwhelming pity.

"I am Dr. Coutras. I was down at Taravao to see the chiefess,
and Ata sent for me to see you."

"She's a damned fool. I have had a few aches and pains lately
and a little fever, but that's nothing; it will pass off.
Next time anyone went to Papeete I was going to send for
some quinine."

"Look at yourself in the glass."

Strickland gave him a glance, smiled, and went over to a cheap
mirror in a little wooden frame, that hung on the wall.

"Well?"

"Do you not see a strange change in your face? Do you not see
the thickening of your features and a look -- how shall I
describe it? -- the books call it lion-faced. <i Mon pauvre ami>,
must I tell you that you have a terrible disease?"

"I?"

"When you look at yourself in the glass you see the typical
appearance of the leper."

"You are jesting," said Strickland.

"I wish to God I were."

"Do you intend to tell me that I have leprosy?"

"Unfortunately, there can be no doubt of it."

Dr. Coutras had delivered sentence of death on many men, and
he could never overcome the horror with which it filled him.
He felt always the furious hatred that must seize a man
condemned when he compared himself with the doctor, sane and
healthy, who had the inestimable privilege of life.
Strickland looked at him in silence. Nothing of emotion could
be seen on his face, disfigured already by the loathsome
disease.

"Do they know?" he asked at last, pointing to the persons on
the verandah, now sitting in unusual, unaccountable silence.

"These natives know the signs so well," said the doctor.
"They were afraid to