CHAPTER XXX.
THE THAW EXTENDS EVEN TO PETROWITSCH, BUT
HE FREEZES AGAIN.
"I know why you are come," said Petrowitsch, when the Doctor entered; "but sit down." He drew in a chair for him near the stove, where in front there was a bright fire blazing, and behind a well heated stove.
"Now, what do I want, prophet?" said the Doctor, summoning up all his wits.
"Money! you want money for my nephew!"
"You are only half a prophet, for I want a kindly heart also."
"Money, money, is the chief object. I will, however, at once say, I am not one of those who charitably lift up a drunken man lying on the road, and if he has broken his leg tell him he has only himself to blame. I say this to you, because you are one of the few people whom I respect in the world."
"Thank you for your good opinion; but a skilful physician must try to heal injuries, whether deserved or undeserved."
"You are a doctor, and yet you have the same malady as the whole country, indeed every one of our race."