"Yes, for the consultation." "Yes. Well, good-by!" The doctor went out, lightly carrying the burden of misery and cruel memories, the weight of which he had ceased to feel. . . . . . Evidently the consulting physicians had just finished their examination of the patient in another room. The door opened, and two doctors entered. Their manner seemed to me to be stiff. One of them was a young man, the other an old man. They looked at each other. I tried to penetrate the silence of their eyes and the night in their heads. The older man stroked his beard, leaned against the mantelpiece, and stared at the ground. "Hopeless," he said, lowering his voice, for fear of being overheard by the patient. The other nodded his head--in sign of agreement--of complicity, you might say. Both men fell silent like two guilty children. Their eyes met again. "How old is he?" "Fifty-three." "Lucky to live so long," the young doctor remarked. To which the old man retorted philosophically: "Yes, indeed. But his luck won't hold out any longer." A silence. The man with the grey beard murmured: "I detected sarcoma." He put his finger on his neck. "Right here." The other man nodded--his head seemed to be nodding continually--and muttered: "Yes. There's no possibility of operating." "Of course not," said the old specialist, his eyes shining with a kind of sinister irony. "There's only one thing that could remove it--the guillotine. Besides, the malignant condition has spread. There is pressure upon the submaxillary and subclavicular ganglia, and probably the axillary ganglia also. His respiration, circulation and digestion will soon be obstructed and strangulation will be rapid." He sighed and stood with an unlighted cigar in his mouth, his face rigid, his arms folded. The young man sat down, leaning back in his chair, and tapped the marble mantelpiece with his idle fingers. "What shall I tell the young woman?" "Put on a subdued manner and tell her it is serious, very serious, but no one can tell, nature is infinitely resourceful." "That's so hackneyed." "So much the better," said the old man. "But if she insists on knowing?" "Don't give in." "Shall we not hold out a little hope? She is so young." "No. For that very reason we mustn't. She'd become too hopeful. My boy, never say anything superfluous at such a time. There's no use. The only result is to make them call us ignoramuses and hate us." "Does he realise?" "I do not know. While I examined him--you heard--I tried to find out by asking questions. Once I thought he had no suspicion at all. Then he seemed to understand his case as well as I did." "Sarcoma forms like the human embryo," said the younger doctor. "Yes, like the human embryo," the other assented and entered into a long elaboration of this idea.