It was an October afternoon, dark and muddy; in the Rue des Saints-Peres, in front of the houses that hide the Charity Hospital, coupes were standing, and their long line extended to the Boulevard Saint-Germain, where the coachmen, having left their seats, talked together like persons who were accustomed to meet each other. At half-past four o’clock, in the deepening twilight, men with grave looks and dark clothes--members of the Academy of Medicine--the Tuesday sitting over, issued from the porch, and entered their carriages. Some of them walked alone, briskly, in a great hurry; others demonstrated a skilful tardiness, stopping to talk politely to a journalist, and to give him notes of the day’s meeting, or continuing, with a ‘confrere’ who was not an Academician, the conversation begun in the room of the ‘pas-perdus’; it was the Bourse of consultations that was just closed. Not all the members of the Academy have, in truth, a long list of patients to visit; but each one has a vote to give, and they are those whom the candidates surround, trying to win them. One of the Academicians who appeared the last at the top of the steps was a man of great height but bent figure, with hollow cheeks and pale face lighted by pale blue eyes with a strange expression, both hard and desolate at the same time. He advanced alone, and his heavy gait and dragging step gave him the appearance of a man sixty years of age, while in other ways he retained a certain youthfulness. It was Saniel, twenty years older. Without exchanging a bow or a hand-shake with any one, he descended to the pavement and walked to the boulevard, where he opened the door of a coups whose interior showed a complete ambulant library--a writing table with paper, ink, and lamp, pockets full of books and pamphlets. Just as he was about to enter, a voice stopped him. He turned; it was one of his old pupils, who had recently become a physician in the suburb of Gentilly. “What is it?” asked Saniel. “I want to ask you to come and assist me in a curious case of spasms, where your intervention may be decisive.” “Where?” “At the Maison-Blanche, a poor woman. What day could you give me?” “Is it urgent?” “Yes.” “In that case I will go at once. Give the address to my coachman, and get in with me.” But at this moment a white-haired man dressed in chestnut velvet, wearing a felt hat and sabots, came toward them, accompanied by two young men with whom he discoursed in a loud tone while gesticulating. People turned to look at them, so original was the appearance of old Brigard, the same man from head to foot that he had always been. He came to Saniel with outstretched hands, and Saniel, taking off his hat, received him with marked respect. “Enchanted to meet you,” Brigard said, “for I went to your office yesterday and did not find you.” “Why did you not send me word beforehand? If you need me I am at your disposal.”