My master, who had gone down to the kitchen, soon returned, carrying a bowl of well sweetened wine. He tried to make Pretty-Heart drink a few spoonfuls, but the poor little creature could not unclench his teeth. With his brilliant eyes he looked at us imploringly as though to ask us not to torment him. Then he drew one arm from under the covers and held it out to us. I wondered what he meant. I looked inquiringly at Vitalis, who explained: Before I had met them Pretty-Heart had had inflammation of the lungs and they had had to bleed him, taking the blood from his arm. Knowing that he was sick now he wanted us to bleed him so that he could get better as before. Poor little monkey! Vitalis was touched to the heart, and this made him still more anxious. It was evident that Pretty-Heart was ill and he must be very ill indeed to refuse the sugared wine that he liked so much. "Drink the wine, Remi, and stay in bed," said Vitalis. "I'll go for a doctor." I must admit that I also liked sugared wine and besides I was very hungry. I did not let him tell me twice to drink it. After I had emptied the bowl I slid down under the eiderdown again, where the heat, aided by the wine, nearly suffocated me. Vitalis was not gone long. He soon returned, bringing with him a gentleman wearing gold-rimmed spectacles--the doctor. Thinking that the doctor might not put himself out for a monkey, Vitalis had not told him who was his patient. When he saw me in bed, as red as a tomato, the doctor put his hand on my forehead and said at once: "Congestion." He shook his head with an air which augured nothing good. Anxious to undeceive him for fear he might bleed me, I cried: "Why, I'm not ill!" "Not ill! Why, the child is delirious." I lifted the quilt a bit and showed him Pretty-Heart, who had placed his little arm round my neck. "He's the one that's ill," I said. "A monkey!" he exclaimed, turning angrily to Vitalis. "You've brought me out in such weather to see a monkey!..."