“I feel choking,” murmured Célestin, with a terrible look of appeal, as though she had but that moment recognized the extent of her illness with the fact that Toto had gone out. Garnier made a little dramatic back-step, which he corrected by folding his hands loosely in front of him and rubbing them slightly one upon the other as if nothing was the matter. The frightful truth suddenly broke upon him that Célestin, his little Célestin, was terribly ill. “I feel choking—it is terrible—my friend.” “Oh, yes,” said Garnier, dropping beside her on his knees. “What is it? You frighten me. Have you pain? Speak, Célestin, and tell me.” “Oh, no pain, but I cannot breathe. Stay, I am better now—the weight has gone a bit; but it will come back. I am afraid to die; what will he do? I would have worked for him; but it is no use—I cannot if I am dead. And he was in trouble; I could see it on his face. We are so poor, you know.” Garnier felt horrified, paralyzed in the knees and unable to move. “What is this you say? what is this you say?” he murmured. “Is it raining?” “Oh, no, it is very fine. What is this I hear you say, Célestin? Are you very ill? It is bright sunshine outside; there is no rain.” “I hear the sound of rain.” “It does not rain,” said Garnier in a heart-broken voice as he watched her eyes wandering about the room as if pursuing some fugitive vision. “Can you not see the sun shining at the window?” Célestin sighed. “Désiré has gone out. When did he go? Ah, yes, I remember now; he would not be a moment, he said.” “He will not be a moment,” said Garnier, stumbling to his feet. “I will run and see if I can fetch him. I will not be absent one little moment.” He stole out of the bedroom, through the atelier, and rushed down the stairs, hatless and as if the top of the house were on fire. There was, fortunately, a doctor in the street; he lived but a few doors away, and by good luck had just returned from his round of morning visits. He was a depressed-looking young man with a pointed beard, somewhat like Gaillard in face, but not nearly so well dressed. He came at once with Garnier, and as he took his seat beside Célestin he laid his polished silk hat, crown downwards, upon the floor. Garnier stood at the end of the bed looking on. He suddenly felt a strong belief in doctors. Dr. Fénélon seemed to him a god; his manner was so assured, and he had the air of one who knew, coupled with the gravity of a judge. He noticed that the doctor wore a bone stud in his white shirt front, and every little detail of his dress, to the patent-leather toecaps of his dull kid boots.