While he was selecting a probe from his case of instruments the Vicomte d'Audierne opened his eyes. “Ah!” said the doctor, noting this at once. “You got this on the Boulevard?” “Yes.” “How did you get here?” He was feeling the wounded man's pulse now. “Cab.” “All the way?” “Of course.” “Who carried you into this room?” asked the doctor, returning to his case of instruments. “No one! I walked.” The doctor's manner, quick and nonchalant, evidently aggravated his patient. “Why did you do that?” He was making his preparations while he spoke, and never looked at the Vicomte. “In order to avoid attracting attention.” This brought the doctor's glance to his face, and the result was instantaneous. The young man started, and into his eyes there came again the shifty expression, as he looked from the face of the patient to that of the Provincial standing motionless at the other side of the table. He said nothing, however, and returned with a peculiar restraint to his preparations. It is probable that his silence was brought about by the persistent gaze of two pairs of deep velvety eyes which never left his face. “Will Monsieur take chloroform,” he asked, unfolding a clean pocket-handkerchief, and taking from his waistcoat pocket a small phial. “No!” “But--I beg of you------” “It is not necessary,” persisted the Vicomte calmly. The doctor looked across to the Provincial and made a hopeless little movement of the shoulders, accompanied by an almost imperceptible elevation of the eyebrows. The Jesuit replied by looking meaningly at the small glass-stoppered bottle. Then the doctor muttered: “As you will!” He had laid his instruments out upon the mattress--the gas was turned up as high as it would go. Everything was ready. Then he turned his back a moment and took off his coat, which he laid upon a chair, returning towards the bed with one hand behind his back. Quick as thought, he suddenly darted forward and pressed the clean handkerchief over the wounded man's mouth and nose. The Vicomte d'Audierne gave a little smothered exclamation of rage, and raised his arms; but the Jesuit was too quick for him, and pinned him down upon the mattress. After a moment the doctor removed the handkerchief, and the Vicomte lay unconscious and motionless, his delicate lips drawn back in anger, so that the short white teeth gleamed dangerously. “It is possible,” said the surgeon, feeling his pulse again, “that Monsieur has killed himself by walking into this room.”