of it; you should be warm about the head, and avoid currents
of air."

Passing behind Caffie, he went to the window to draw the curtains, but
the cords would not move.

"It is years since they were drawn," Caffie said. "Doubtless the cords
are entangled. I will bring the light."

And, taking the lamp, he went to the window, holding it high in order to
throw light on the cords.

With a turn of the hand Saniel disentangled the cords, and the curtains
slid on the rods, almost covering the window.

"It is true a good deal of air did come in the window," Caffie said. "I
thank you, my dear doctor."

All this was done with a feverish rapidity that astonished Caffie.

"Decidedly, you are in a hurry," he said.

"Yes, in a great hurry."

He looked at his watch.

"However, I have still time to give you a consultation if you desire
it."

"I would not trouble you--"

"You do not trouble me."

"But--"

"Sit down in your armchair, and show me your mouth."

While Caffie seated himself, Saniel continued in a vibrating voice:

"You see I give good for evil."

"How is that, my dear sir?"

"You refuse me a service that would save me, and I give you a
consultation. It is true, it is the last."

"And why the last, my dear sir?"

"Because death is between us."

"Death!"

"Do you not see it?"

"No."

"I see it."

"You must not think of such a thing, my dear sir. One does not die
because one cannot pay three thousand francs."

The chair in which Caffie seated himself was an old Voltaire, with an
inclined back, and he half reclined in it. As his shirtcollar was
too large for him since he had become thin, and his narrow cravat was
scarcely tied, he displayed as much throat as jaw.

Saniel, behind the chair, had taken the knife in his right hand, while
he pressed the left heavily on Caffies forehead, and with a powerful
stroke, as quick as lightning, he cut the larynx under the glottis,
as well as the two carotid arteries, with the jugular veins. From this
terrible wound sprang a large jet of blood, which, crossing the room,
struck against the door. Cut clean, not a cry could be formed in the
windpipe, and in his armchair Caffie shook with convulsions from head to
foot.

Leaving his position behind the chair, Saniel, who had thrown the
knife on the floor, looked at his watch and counted the ticking of the
second-hand in a low voice.

"One, two, three-"

At the end of ninety seconds the convulsions ceased