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pity nobody else seems to know anything about
this most interesting disease, you evidently keep
it all to yourself. Will you oblige me by telling
me what is colitis? Is it catching?”
“No, not in the ordinary sense of the word.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“No, not if taken in hand immediately, and
properly attended to.”
“By you, I suppose?”
“I am not a doctor here, the Count has been
kind enough to invite me here as his guest.”
“Really! But what will happen to all your
patients in Paris while you are away?”
“I suppose they will recover.”
“I am sure they will,” roared the Vicomte.
I had to go and sit down beside the Abbé and
get hold of a paper to steady myself. The
Vicomte looked nervously at the clock over the
mantelpiece.
“I am going up to fetch Juliette for a stroll
in the park, it is a pity to remain indoors in this
beautiful moonlight.”
“My wife has gone to bed,” said the Count
drily from his chair, “she was not feeling very
well.”
“Why the devil didn’t you tell me?” retorted
the Vicomte angrily, helping himself to another
glass of brandy and soda.
The Abbé was reading the ‘Journal des
Débats,’ but I noticed that his sly old eye never
stopped watching us.
“Any news, Monsieur l’Abbé?”
“I was just reading about the tournament
of ‘La Société du Tir de France’ the day after
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