such a man as yourself. I have read your admirable book on La Monomanie raisonnante; it is the most remarkable book that has been written on the subject since the Traité des Maladies mentales, by the great Esquirol. I know, moreover, that you are a father to your patients, so I will not insult you by recommending M. Morlot to special care. As to the expense of his treatment, I leave that entirely to you." He took a thousand-franc note from his pocket-book, and quietly laid it on the mantel. "I shall have the honor to present myself here in the course of next week. At what hour is access to the patients allowed?"
"From noon till two o'clock. As for me, I'm always at home. Good-day, monsieur."
"Stop him!" cried the poor uncle. "Don't let him go! He's the crazy one; I'll explain his madness!"
"Pray calm yourself, my dear uncle," said François, going out; "I leave you in M. Auvray's hands; he'll take good care of you."
M. Morlot tried to follow his nephew. The doctor held him back.
"What awful luck!" cried the poor uncle, "He won't say a single crazy thing! If he would only lose his bearings a little, you'd see well enough that it's not I who am crazy."
François already had hold of the door-knob. He turned on his heel, as if he had forgotten
