How should he execute his plan under the eyes of these people whom he saw coming and going in this room? He would be lost. In any case, it was risking an adventure so hazardous that he would be a fool to attempt it, and he was not that; never had he felt himself so much the master of his mind and nerves. Also, it was not only to save Caffie’s life that he argued, it was to save himself in grasping this loan. “I can only, to my great regret, repeat to you what I have already said, my dear sir. I have no ready money.” And he held his jaw, groaning, as if this refusal aroused his toothache. Saniel rose; evidently there was nothing for him to do but to go. It was finished, and instead of being in despair he felt it as a relief. But, as he was about to leave the room, an idea flashed through his mind. He looked at his watch, which he had not consulted for some time; it was twenty minutes after five; there yet remained four minutes, five at the most. “Why do you not draw these curtains?” he said. “I am sure your sufferings are partly caused by the wind that comes in this window.” “Do you think so?” “I am sure 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.