The invalid, lying in a soft bed standing in the alcove of a comfortable apartment, had always a fat and ruddy face; his triple chin descended to the collar of a fine shirt made of Holland cloth, and the purple brilliancy of the holy man's complexion contrasted with the immaculate whiteness of his cotton cap, bound, according to the ancient custom, with an orange-coloured ribbon. Notwithstanding these indications of plethoric health, the abbé, his head propped on his pillow in a doleful manner, uttered from time to time the most plaintive groans, while his hand, small and effeminate, was given to his physician, who was gravely feeling his pulse. Doctor Gasterini,--such was the name of the physician,--although seventy-five years old, did not look sixty. Tall and erect, as well as lean and nervous, with a clear complexion and rosy lips, the doctor, when he smiled with his pleasant, elegant air, disclosed thirty-two teeth of irreproachable whiteness, which seemed to combine the polish of ivory with the sharp durability of steel; a forest of white hair, naturally curled, encircled the amiable and intelligent face of the doctor. Dressed always in black, with a certain affectation, he remained faithful to the tradition of small-clothes made of silk cloth, with shoe buckles of gold, and silk stockings, which clearly delineated his strong, sinewy legs. Doctor Gasterini was holding delicately between his thumb and his index finger--whose rosy polished nails might have been the envy of a pretty woman--the wrist of his patient, who religiously awaited the decision of his physician. "My dear abbé," said the doctor, "you are not at all sick." "But, doctor--" "You have a soft, pliant skin, and sixty-five pulsations to the minute. It would be impossible to find conditions of better health." "But, again, doctor, I--" "But, again, abbé, you are not sick. I am a good judge, perhaps." "And I tell you, doctor, that I have not closed my eyes the whole night. Madame Siboulet, my housekeeper, has been on her feet constantly,--she gave me several times some drops made by the good sisters." "Stuff!" "And orange flower distilled at the Sacred Heart." "The devil!" "Yes, doctor, you may laugh; none of these remedies have given me relief. I have done nothing but turn over and over all night long in my bed. Alas, alas! I am not well. I have an excitement, an insupportable weariness." "Perhaps, my dear abbé, you experienced yesterday some annoyance, some contradiction, and as you are very obstinate, very conceited, very spiteful--" "I?" "You." "Doctor, I assure you--" "This annoyance, I tell you, might have put you in a diabolical humour; for I know no remedy which can prevent these vexations. As to being ill, or even indisposed, you are not the least so in the world, my dear abbé." "Then why did I ask you to come to see me this morning?"