"Faugh!" he exclaimed, "but this drama carries us through sharp contrasts, friend. Where are we now?"
"Among the dead," replied Louis; "and in sight of life once more."
"Ah," said the Marquis, "I remember hearing of these labyrinths from time to time. So yours, my friend, is a love which has indeed broken through the grave!"
"Truly, you may say so in a way, monsieur," he replied. "And there," he continued, as they passed into a larger shaft, "there before us lies the blessed light of day."
••••••••••
In the interests of science, de la Spina had besought the Marquis to give him facilities for following the course of his disease systematically. So clear and well-defined a case was rare, he had said. The profession would be stirred, humanity at large would benefit, and, in short, the young man would be acting selfishly if he kept the good thing to himself. Hautepierre had amiably concurred, and thus it came about that two days later he was again ushered into the physician's room.
Heavy but alert, de la Spina was to-day the iron man of science, the momentary gleam of sentiment or compassion put aside. His greeting was business-like; his preparation to the point; and throwing open his record-book he proceeded to test the characteristic symptoms of the case—to test, and then to re-test, to mutter in his teeth and, fuming, test again.
"I am afraid that you are finding me not up to your expectations," remarked Hautepierre, looking round. "But I can assure you that I feel no worse."
"It is credible, M. le Marquis," replied de la Spina grimly. "And the growing pain here, of which you spoke?"
