profession and Captain Genestas confides the little Adrien to
his care, and then the beautiful letter in which the boy describes the
country doctor's death and burial. The simple pathos of it went home
to Carmichael's heart.

"It is a fine life, after all," said he to himself, as he shut the
book at midnight and laid down his pipe. "No man has a better chance
than a doctor to come close to the real thing. Human nature is his
patient, and each case is a symptom. It's worth while to work for the
sake of getting nearer to the reality and doing some definite good by
the way. I'm glad that this isn't one of those mystical towns where
Christian Science and Buddhism and all sorts of vagaries flourish.
Calvinton may be difficult, but it's not obscure. And some day I'll
feel its pulse and get at the heart of it."

The silence of the little office was snapped by the nervous clamour of
the electric bell, shrilling with a night call.

II

Dr. Carmichael turned on the light in the hall, and opened the front
door. A tall, dark man of military aspect loomed out of the mist, and,
behind him, at the curbstone, the outline of a big motorcar was dimly
visible. He held out a visiting-card inscribed "Baron de Mortemer,"
and spoke slowly and courteously, but with a strong nasal accent and a
tone of insistent domination.

"You are the Dr. Carmichael, yes? You speak French--no? It is a pity.
There is need of you at once--a patient--it is very pressing. You will
come with me, yes?"

"But I do not know you, sir," said the doctor; "you are----"

"The Baron de Mortemer," broke in the stranger, pointing to the card
as if it answered all questions. "It is the Baroness who is very
suffering--I pray you to come without delay."

"But what is it?" asked the doctor. "What shall I bring with me? My
instrument-case?"

The Baron smiled with his lips and frowned with his eyes. "Not at
all," he said, "Madame expects not an arrival--it is not so bad as
that--but she has had a sudden access of anguish--she has demanded
you. I pray you to come at the instant. Bring what pleases you, what
you think best, but come!"

The man's manner was not agitated, but it was strangely urgent,
overpowering, constraining; his voice was like a pushing hand.
Carmichael threw on his coat and hat, hastily picked up his
medicine-satchel and a portable electric battery, and followed the
Baron to the motor.

The great car started easily and rolled softly purring down t