do. When a man and a woman have once
committed such a sin, it is easy for them to slip back. The less time
they spend talking about their misfortunes, and being generous and
forbearing to each other, the better for them both."

"But, Doctor," cried George. "I love Henriette! I could not possibly
love anyone else. It would be horrible to me!"

"Yes," said the doctor. "But you are not living with Henriette. You are
wandering round, not knowing what to do with yourself next."

There was no need for anybody to tell George that. "What do you think?"
he asked abruptly. "Is there any hope for me?"

"I think there is," said the other, who, in spite of his resolution, had
become a sort of ambassador for the unhappy husband. He had to go to
the Loches house to attend the child, and so he could not help seeing
Henriette, and talking to her about the child's health and her own
future. He considered that George had had his lesson, and urged upon the
young wife that he would be wiser in future, and safe to trust.

George had indeed learned much. He got new lessons every time he went to
call at the physician's office--he could read them in the faces of the
people he saw there. One day when he was alone in the waiting-room, the
doctor came out of his inner office, talking to an elderly gentleman,
whom George recognized as the father of one of his classmates at
college. The father was a little shopkeeper, and the young man
remembered how pathetically proud he had been of his son. Could it be,
thought George, that this old man was a victim of syphilis?

But it was the son, and not the father, who was the subject of the
consultation. The old man was speaking in a deeply moved voice, and he
stood so that George could not help hearing what he said. "Perhaps you
can't understand," he said, "just what it means to us--the hopes we had
of that boy! Such a fine fellow he was, and a good fellow, too, sir! We
were so proud of him; we had bled our veins to keep him in college--and
now just see!"

"Don't despair, sir," said the doctor, "we'll try to cure him." And he
added with that same note of sorrow in his voice which George had heard,
"Why did you wait so long before you brought the boy to me?"

"How was I to know what he had?" cried the other. "He didn't dare tell
me, sir--he was afraid of my scolding him. And in the meantime the
disease was running its course. When he realized that he had it, he went
secretly to one of the quacks, who