I did not know that the instrument existed in this form. The graduated glass tube only measured a few centimetres. I mechanically turned it round and round until I saw the little column of mercury shining. "102.2°!" I exclaimed. "Is that your temperature?" "Yes." "You ought to take some ... quinine." He shook his head. "You see ... it's the same nearly every day." I did not understand. "What?" "I'm ill," he murmured. "It's rotten, oh heavens, how rotten it is!" I looked at him interrogatively. Turned towards me he unburdened himself of his secret, in a broken voice. It was months, years now since he had been well. Last spring his mother--"Maman" he said (the word moved me and made me dream of mine)--his mother had implored him to consult a doctor.... He had resisted a long time afraid to hear that he was ill.... How alarming it had been when the doctor, after sounding him, had knitted his eyebrows and told him he must be careful. It was not so very long since his father, a few months after a warning of this kind, had been taken from them. While he talked I seized the opportunity of watching him unobserved. Now that my eyes were opened I immediately became aware of the well-known signs: this narrow, hollow chest, the sallow complexion, the pink patches on the cheek-bones, down to the tapering fingers. "I realised that I could not take any risks and I wanted to live.... I wanted to. Two days later Mother and I took the train to Switzerland. Do you know Château d'Oex?" I made a sign of assent. "I stayed there for four months, April to July, resting on a long chair in the sun." "Did you get better?" "Much better, yes. No perspiring at night. I put on weight, and at the same time my temperature, oh! the thermometer, you know, is the surest sign of all! I had seen my father, getting so terribly feverish every afternoon! As for me, when I saw that it already rose quite easily to 101.1°, 101.3° I had not the slightest doubt about it. Well, I repeat, everything was improving. They told me that if I continued to take great care all the winter...." He paused for a few seconds: "But on the 2nd of August, you see ... I had to leave." "What did your mother say to it?" He avoided that subject, but from a chance word he let slip I guessed the anguish and the resistance of his people--the sustained struggle. "You ought to have got discharged!" "How could I at such a moment! And then...." His voice was muffled: "Our family have always fought well!" I silently evoked the De Valpics whose names shine in our annals: the Lord High Constable, the Admiral.... "I hoped it would turn out all right. At F---- I managed fairly well; I kept watch, you see, with my little thermometer!" "And now?" "Ah, now! I've caught cold again. I was told: 'Whatever you do, don't get cold.'" He coughed, and said very softly: "This morning I spat some blood." With a touching gesture he sought my hand and squeezed it.