of dreadful things in response to the usual, “You know what to say,” of his unimaginative clients.
When Dr. Han Sen has finished the examination, and has listened with a stethoscope of native manufacture to the beating of Mousmé’s heart, to the bird-like fluttering of which I am so used in the wakeful stillness of the night, he rises to go.
Shall he come to see the most honourable lady to-morrow?
A vague idea formulates itself as I look into his unintelligent, vacuous face.
“No, I will send if I want your services,” I hastily explain.
“No?” There is a look of almost professional regret on the wizened face. Do I know my most honourable madame is ill, very ill?
“Yes! I know. I will send if I require the most honourable Dr. Han Sen.”
Then he goes out down the path, no doubt mystified at my eccentric conduct.
