"I am now free. Count Clodwig has told me about you, but he has given me a wrong impression of you. Never mind! Every one sees, standing in the centre of his own horizon, his own rainbow. I wished only to say to you, that what one—pardon me—what one does for you, is hardly the payment of interest, for no human being has done more for others than your grandfather and your father. Now allow yourself for once to undergo a regular examination. I saw you years ago, when you were coupled with the prince."
The doctor receded a step from Eric, and continued,—
"The crossing of races is a good one. Father, Huguenot,—Mother, pure German, real blond, delicate organization,—proper mixture of nationalities. Come with me into the arbor. Will you allow me a brief and concise diagnosis?"
Eric smiled; the physician's method of passing him under review and pronouncing verdict upon him seemed extremely odd, but yet he felt attracted.
Striking off on a twig the ashes from his cigar, the doctor asked,—
"Can you have intercourse with any one day by day, and not like him, or at least have some regard for him?"
"I have never tried it, but I think not; and such an intercourse assuredly hurts the soul."
"I expected this answer. For my part, I say with Lessing, It is better to live among bad people, than to live apart from everybody. May I ask still another question?"
But without waiting for a reply, he continued,—
"Have you ever experienced ingratitude?"