'What did she die of?' Hugo demanded curtly. 'You are aware, then, who it is?' 'Naturally, I guessed.' 'Ah! she died of typhoid fever. You knew her?' 'I knew her.' 'Of course; I remember. She was in your employ. Yes,' he sighed; 'she contracted typhoid fever in Paris. It's always more or less endemic there. And what with this hot summer and their water-supply and their drainage, it's been more rife than usual lately. Tudor called me in at once. I am qualified both in England and France, but I practise in Paris. It was a fairly ordinary case, except that she suffered from severe and persistent headaches at the beginning. But in typhoid the danger is seldom in the fever; it is in the complications. She had a haemorrhage. I--I failed. A haemorrhage in typhoid is not necessarily fatal, but it often proves so. She died from exhaustion.' 'I thought,' said Hugo, in a low, unnatural voice, 'that typhoid marked the patient--spots on the face.' 'Not invariably. Oh no; but why do you say that?' 'I only meant that I hope her face was not marked.' 'It was not. You mean that you hope her face was not marked because she was so beautiful?' 'Exactly,' said Hugo. 'And so Tudor brought the body over to England for burial?' 'Yes; he insisted on that. And he insisted on my coming with him. I could not refuse.' 'And now he, too, is gone! Tell me, was he expecting it--his own death?' Darcy lighted another cigarette. 'Who can say?' he observed to the ceiling. 'Who can say what premonitions such a man may not have had?' 'I heard talking before I came into the flat from the balcony,' said Hugo abruptly. 'It went on for a long time. Was it you and he?' 'No,' the doctor replied; 'I was in here, writing.' He pointed to some papers on a desk. 'I did not even hear him fall.' 'Yet you heard me?' 'No, I didn't. I was just coming to find out what Tudor was doing when I saw you.' 'It is curious that I heard talking, and walking about, too.' 'Possibly he was talking to himself. Did you hear two voices?' 'Perhaps I heard only one.' 'Then no doubt he was talking to himself. You won't be surprised to learn that he had been in an excessively emotional condition all day.... It is all very sad. Only a month ago, and Tudor was--but what am I saying? Who knows what perils and misfortunes he--they--may not have escaped? For my part, I envy--yes, I envy Tudor.' 'But not her? You do not envy her? In your quality of philosophy, you regret _her_ death?' 'Do not ask me to be consistent,' said the philosopher, after a long pause. Hugo rose and approached Darcy. 'Are you acquainted with a man named Louis Ravengar?' he demanded in a rather loud tone. The doctor scanned his face. 'I have heard Tudor mention the name, but I do not know him.' 'And upon my soul I believe you,' cried Hugo. 'Nevertheless--' 'Nevertheless what?' Darcy seemed startled. Hugo's strange outburst was indeed startling.