all events, the rare quality of professing for his art, as he called
it, a respect very nearly akin to enthusiasm. According to his views,
the faculty were infallible, as much so as the pope, whom he denied. He
would, to be sure, in confidence, admit that some of his colleagues were
amazing donkeys; but he would never have allowed any one else to say so
in his presence. From the moment that a man possessed the famous diploma
which gives him the right over life and death, that man became in his
eyes an august personage for the world at large. It was a crime, he
thought, not to submit blindly to the decision of a physician. Hence
his obstinacy in opposing M. Galpin, hence the bitterness of his
contradictions, and the rudeness with which he had requested the
"gentlemen of the law" to leave the room in which _his_ patient was
lying.

"For these devils," he said, "would kill one man in order to get the
means of cutting off another man's head."

And thereupon, resuming his probes and his sponge, he had gone to work
once more, with the aid of the countess, digging out grain by grain the
lead which had honeycombed the flesh of the count. At nine o'clock the
work was done.

"Not that I fancy I have gotten them all out," he said modestly, "but,
if there is any thing left, it is out of reach, and I shall have to wait
for certain symptoms which will tell me where they are."

As he had foreseen, the count had grown rather worse. His first
excitement had given way to perfect prostration; and he seemed to be
insensible to what was going on around him. Fever began to show itself;
and, considering the count's constitution, it was easily to be foreseen
that delirium would set in before the day was out.

"Nevertheless, I think there is hardly any danger," said the doctor to
the countess, after having pointed out to her all the probable symptoms,
so as to keep her from being alarmed. Then he recommended to her to let
no one approach her husband's bed, and M. Galpin least of all.

This recommendation was not useless; for almost at the same moment a
peasant came in to say that there was a man from Sauveterre at the door
who wished to see the count.

"Show him in," said the doctor; "I'll speak to him."

It was a man called Tetard, a former constable, who had given up his
place, and become a dealer in stones. But besides being a former officer
of justice and a merchant, as his cards told the world, he was also
the agent of a fire insu