"It is already agreed that you are to have three hundred a year, which with the three hundred you will receive from the father of your patient, makes you very comfortable." "Not as comfortable as I ought to be," said Dr. Peterssen, placidly. "What the mischief do you want? You have got a check for two thousand out of me." "A retainer, my dear Leonard, merely a retainer. I should have stuck out for more, but I am always sacrificing myself for others. The three hundred must be six. Don't look black; a heart-stricken expression is advisable, with strangers observing us. The eyes of half-a-dozen are fixed on us at the present moment, and there would be the devil to pay if they suspected there was the smallest difference of opinion between us. Remember the stake you are playing for." "You seem to hold the winning cards." "I never play a game without them, dear old chum, but you must admit that my winnings are small in comparison with yours. Notice the smile of sad resignation on my face, with which I cajole our friends the simple villagers. Yes, Leonard, the three hundred must be six." "I carry your brother Gerald from the carriage back to the inn. He is not in a fit state to travel, I say in reply to questions; I will not risk his life. I nurse him into health, I restore his senses--quite possible, I believe. I keep a watchful eye upon Emilia also, in order that you shall play no tricks, and she, too, gets well. Then I bring the two together, and leave you, noble captain, to your own devices. All very beautifully arranged, is it not, sweet child?" "You shall have the six hundred, curse you," said Leonard, careful to follow Dr. Peterssen's advice as to the play of expression on his features. "A million million thanks. And now be kind enough to sign this paper binding you to the arrangement. Go into the inn, and affix your signature in a bold, clear hand. No arguments, Leonard, but do it. If you delay we shall miss the train, and I shall have to return with your brother to the enjoyments of your society." Leonard had no choice; he went into the inn and presently reappeared with the document, which he handed to Dr. Peterssen, who examined and pocketed it. "Farewell, old comrade, farewell," he said, with his handkerchief to his eyes. "This is a dramatic moment; deeply do I feel the parting. Adieu, till we meet in England. By the way, I have informed Father Anselm, the good priest, that I have left five hundred francs in your hands which you will give him in my name for the relief of the poor. He blessed and thanked me. He will remind you of the benediction if you need reminding, but your best plan will be to give him the money soon, with a cheerful heart. Once more, farewell. Speak well of me when I am gone."