village,' he once boasted. 'It is a fair consequence that I know

more and wish to do less with my knowledge.'
The Doctor was a connoisseur of sunrises, and loved a good

theatrical effect to usher in the day. He had a theory of dew, by
which he could predict the weather. Indeed, most things served him

to that end: the sound of the bells from all the neighbouring
villages, the smell of the forest, the visits and the behaviour of

both birds and fishes, the look of the plants in his garden, the
disposition of cloud, the colour of the light, and last, although

not least, the arsenal of meteorological instruments in a louvre-
boarded hutch upon the lawn. Ever since he had settled at Gretz,

he had been growing more and more into the local meteorologist, the
unpaid champion of the local climate. He thought at first there

was no place so healthful in the arrondissement. By the end of the
second year, he protested there was none so wholesome in the whole

department. And for some time before he met Jean-Marie he had been
prepared to challenge all France and the better part of Europe for

a rival to his chosen spot.
'Doctor,' he would say - 'doctor is a foul word. It should not be

used to ladies. It implies disease. I remark it, as a flaw in our
civilisation, that we have not the proper horror of disease. Now

I, for my part, have washed my hands of it; I have renounced my
laureation; I am no doctor; I am only a worshipper of the true

goddess Hygieia. Ah, believe me, it is she who has the cestus!
And here, in this exiguous hamlet, has she placed her shrine: here

she dwells and lavishes her gifts; here I walk with her in the
early morning, and she shows me how strong she has made the

peasants, how fruitful she has made the fields, how the trees grow
up tall and comely under her eyes, and the fishes in the river

become clean and agile at her presence. - Rheumatism!' he would
cry, on some malapert interruption, 'O, yes, I believe we do have a

little rheumatism. That could hardly be avoided, you know, on a
river. And of course the place stands a little low; and the

meadows are marshy, there's no doubt. But, my dear sir, look at
Bourron! Bourron stands high. Bourron is close to the forest;

plenty of ozone there, you would say. Well, compared with Gretz,
Bourron is a perfect shambles.'

The morning after he had been summoned to the dying mountebank, the
Doctor visited the wharf at the tail of his garden, and had a long

look at the running water. This he called prayer; but whether his
adorations were addressed to the goddess Hygieia or some more

orthodox deity, never plainly appeared. For he had uttered
doubtful oracles, sometimes declaring that a river was the type of

bodily health, sometimes extolling it as the great moral preacher,
continually preaching peace, continuity, and diligence to man's

tormented spirits. After he had watched a mile or so of the clear
water running by before his eyes, seen a fish or two come to the

surface with a gleam of silver, and sufficiently admired the long
shadows of the trees falling half across the river from the

opposite bank, with patches of moving sunlight in between, he
strolled once more up the garden and through his house into the

street, feeling cool and renovated.
The sound of his feet upon the causeway began the business of the

day; for the village was still sound asleep. The church tower
looked very airy in the sunlight; a few birds that turned about it,

seemed to swim in an atmosphere of more than usual rarity; and the
Doctor, walking in long transparent shadows, filled his lungs

amply, and proclaimed himself well contented with the morning.
On one of the posts before Tentaillon's carriage entry he espied a

little dark figure perched in a meditative attitude, and
immediately recognised Jean-Marie.

'Aha!' he said, stopping before him humorously, with a hand on
either knee. 'So we rise early in the morning, do we? It appears

to me that we have all the vices of a philosopher.'
The boy got to his feet and made a grave salutation.

'And how is our patient?' asked Desprez.
It appeared the patient was about the same.

'And why do you rise early in the morning?' he pursued.
Jean-Marie, after a long silence, professed that he hardly knew.

'You hardly know?' repeated Desprez. 'We hardly know anything, my
man, until we try to learn. Interrogate your consciousness" target="_blank" title="n.意识；觉悟；知觉">consciousness. Come,

push me this inquiry home. Do you like it?'
'Yes,' said the boy slowly; 'yes, I like it.'

'And why do you like it?' continued the Doctor. '(We are now
pursuing the Socratic method.) Why do you like it?'

'It is quiet,' answered Jean-Marie; 'and I have nothing to do; and
then I feel as if I were good.'

Doctor Desprez took a seat on the post at the opposite side. He
was beginning to take an interest in the talk, for the boy plainly

thought before he spoke, and tried to answer truly. 'It appears
you have a taste for feeling good,' said the Doctor. 'Now, there

you puzzle me extremely; for I thought you said you were a thief;
and the two are incompatible.'

'Is it very bad to steal?' asked Jean-Marie.
'Such is the general opinion, little boy,' replied the Doctor.

'No; but I mean as I stole,' explained the other. 'For I had no
choice. I think it is surely right to have bread; it must be right

to have bread, there comes so plain a want of it. And then they
beat me cruelly if I returned with nothing,' he added. 'I was not

ignorant of right and wrong; for before that I had been well taught
by a priest, who was very kind to me.' (The Doctor made a horrible

grimace at the word 'priest.') 'But it seemed to me, when one had
nothing to eat and was beaten, it was a different affair. I would

not have stolen for tartlets, I believe; but any one would steal
for baker's bread.'

'And so I suppose,' said the Doctor, with a rising sneer, 'you
prayed God to forgive you, and explained the case to Him at

length.'
'Why, sir?' asked Jean-Marie. 'I do not see.'

'Your priest would see, however,' retorted Desprez.
'Would he?' asked the boy, troubled for the first time. 'I should

have thought God would have known.'
'Eh?' snarled the Doctor.

'I should have thought God would have understood me,' replied the
other. 'You do not, I see; but then it was God that made me think

so, was it not?'
'Little boy, little boy,' said Dr. Desprez, 'I told you already you

had the vices of philosophy; if you display the virtues also, I
must go. I am a student of the blessed laws of health, an observer

of plain and temperate nature in her common walks; and I cannot
preserve my equanimity in presence of a monster. Do you

understand?'
'No, sir,' said the boy.

'I will make my meaning clear to you,' replied the doctor. 'Look
there at the sky - behind the belfry first, where it is so light,

and then up and up, turning your chin back, right to the top of the
dome, where it is already as blue as at noon. Is not that a

beautiful colour? Does it not please the heart? We have seen it
all our lives, until it has grown in with our familiar thoughts.

Now,' changing his tone, 'suppose that sky to become suddenly of a
live and fiery amber, like the colour of clear coals, and growing

scarlet towards the top - I do not say it would be any the less
beautiful; but would you like it as well?'

'I suppose not,' answered Jean-Marie.
'Neither do I like you,' returned the Doctor, roughly. 'I hate all