I put up my kerchief to my eyes, and sobbed aloud; but my hard-hearted auditors preserved a stony silence. Without uncovering my face, I stretched out my left hand. "Charity, friends, charity!" I muttered brokenly. "No, Marion," said my master's voice. "Cannot you see that the rogue is tipsy?" "True, but a small gift may induce him to depart." The woman's tones were of dulcet softness, but the accent was distinctly foreign. "Charity!" I hiccoughed, "Charity!" "Be off with you, you rascal!" cried my master sharply. I clutched a shilling, and broke into a stream of drunken sobbing thanks. Moving off I collided designedly with the vacant bench, and sprawled upon the ground. There I lay pretending to be senseless. They came up, and turned me over on my back; Sir William Dagmar also kicked my ribs, but I answered all attempts to revive me with snores. Satisfied apparently with my condition, they presently returned to their seats and began to converse. The crown of my head was presented to their gaze, so I could not see them, but I could hear, and not a word escaped me. "I thought for a moment he was really hurt," said the woman. "He is half stunned and wholly asleep," replied my master, "nevertheless let us speak in French. We cannot be too careful, Marion." "Would it not be as well to move on?" asked the woman. "For you perhaps, my child. You are young and strong, but I am old, and my stroll has tired me out. Let us rest yet a little!" "As you please, M'sieur." "You were describing the effects of the picra toxic solution," suggested my master. "That is true. Alas! M'sieur, we have once more a failure to record--so many failures!" she replied drearily. "The operation is always so perfect, so perfect, and yet always the patients die,--of shock!" "Ah! Then the woman is dead." "There will be a funeral to-morrow, M'sieur. The failure is complete. Sir Charles is sad. He does not speak, but he shuts his mouth, so!" "And Fulton?" "From the first he had no hope, M'sieur. He declared the drug a poison, a neurotic intoxicant--malignant, deadly. He smiles--so--like a dog, and shrugs his shoulders. But he too said little!" "What next Marion?" asked my master in a hoarse hollow voice. "God knows, M'sieur. Soon we shall have exhausted the pharmacopoeia. Providence is very cruel to us, very cruel. We have been vouchsafed one half of the secrets of life, and it seems to me that in seeking the remainder we expand our energies in vain. Meanwhile the hands of us all become more deeply dyed with blood! M'sieur, as God hears me, I sometimes think myself a murderess." "Hush, Marion!" "No, M'sieur, I shall speak what is in my heart. I cannot see these wretched creatures die, as day by day they perish, without often asking myself the question--are we justified? I have spoken to Sir Charles and Dr. Fulton, but they freeze me with their cold cold 'Science.' I swear to you, M'sieur, that were it not for George, I would be tempted to break my oath!"