“Who is he?” said Ned. “My physician.” “The deuce he is!” “Ah! I am under the influence here of a democratic atmosphere. No hand-muffs and silver-headed canes in the economics of Egalité. In Rome, as Rome. Monsieur is, in fact, a beast-leech attached to the household to teach mesdemoiselles how to put Pompon’s tail in splints when it has been caught in the parlour door. He can bleed, rowel, and drench; shoe a horse, or salt a pig. And, egad! now I think on’t, there is his right use to me. For, when a man has made a hog of himself, what better physician does he need than him that hath the knowledge how to cure bacon?” Deprecatory of the applause that he waited a moment to secure, he called over to the little man by the table: “_Dépêche-toi, monsieur_! _ma gorge est en feu_!” “_Attendez, monsieur, attendez_!” replied the leech in a thin, hoarse voice: “_ayez encore un peu de patience, je vous prie_.” He brought the cup over in a moment. Sheridan sent the liquid hissing down his throat. He gave a sigh of pleasure. “Ah!” he said, “small-beer and absolution were invented by the devil to tempt men to sin for the sake of the ecstasy of relief they bring.” He looked at Ned, his fevered eyes watering in the strong glare of sunlight that shot under the half-closed blind. “You have an enviable complexion, my lord,” said he. “Did you ever, in all your life, experience the need to dose yourself with so much as a mug of tar-water?” Ned laughed. “I refuse to lend myself to point a moral,” said he. “Palate is a matter of temperament, and temperament is a cause, not a consequence. Mr Sheridan may find in wine the very stimulant I borrow from country air and exercise.” “Oh, the country!” said the other, with a groan: “from Tweed to Channel nothing but the market-garden to London.” “So you think? And yet you stay on here?” Mr Sheridan shrugged his shoulders. His face seemed to have fallen quite sick and peevish. “By my own wish?” said he. “But at least I scent liberty at last. Madame (I am abusing no confidence in telling you) contemplates changing her quarters very shortly.” Ned was conscious that his heart gave a somersault. “Indeed?” said he, reining-in his emotion. “And for what others?” “I can’t say. Monseigneur is, I believe, at Brussels. That is all I know.” “And when is the removal to take place?” said Ned sinkingly.