Even in his own room he behaved tranquilly. Very rarely was he heard to speak, and only once in a while--in his sleep--would he utter a long-drawn singing cry, such as street venders use in the Orient. As Dr. Maerz entered the room, the little baldheaded lawyer bowed, with his cap in his hand, and stood modestly against the wall. His gratitude knew no bounds, because the Doctor allowed him to live quietly and peacefully among his flowers and birds, without ever asking him to pay anything. So today he did not even venture to ask Dr. Maerz for crumbs for the birds nor to complain of the negligence of the maids in the kitchen, although he had fully determined to do so. But the lawyer could not look at the "Rajah" who stood dark and unapproachable in the passageway, without feeling timid and slightly anxious. To express his respect, he bowed low to the "Rajah," and since the latter did not notice him, he bowed once more, moving his lips in a whisper. But the "Rajah" did not vouchsafe him a glance. For a moment the lawyer thought of approaching and kissing the "Rajah's" hand. For he recalled a circumstance that had been sharply impressed upon his memory: One evening he had met the "Rajah" in the corridor and had bowed to him. They had been quite alone. The "Rajah" had come toward him and had said in a deep, mysterious voice, "My loyal subject!" and had given him his hand to kiss. "Wait!" the "Rajah" had continued, "I will show my favor to you. I have very little of the treasure left, that I brought with me into exile, but--here, take this." And the "Rajah" had slipped a little gray stone into his hand. Michael Petroff, on the contrary, looked smilingly and questioningly at Dr. Maerz, while he stood politely back against the door. Meanwhile he tipped his head somewhat backward and sidewise and looked at the Doctor, as if he expected some very special news from him and as if he knew quite well that Dr. Maerz had such news for him today. So confidently did he look at him, while a smile played about his pretty boyish mouth. But Engelhardt, whose brows were drawn up with pain as if they were fastened with rivets, had half sat up in bed and was explaining his needs and his sufferings to the Doctor. He spoke in a guttural tone, rapidly, in a murmur that was hard to understand, and his voice sounded like the distant barking of a dog, heard on a still night. He had come to the end of his strength--the moon was drawing at him!--in the night thousands of people had begged him on their knees not to give them up to destruction--only a new soul could give him back his strength--he felt that he was bending over more and more to the left and the whole universe might collapse at any moment: all this he muttered indistinctly, confusedly, his distressful eyes fixed pleadingly upon Dr. Maerz.