“I caught a glimpse of him, and he appears to me to be rapidly preparing for the good offices of the undertaker.”
Monsieur Ramin smiled, rubbed his hands, and joked merrily with a dark-eyed grisette, who was cheapening some ribbon for her cap. That girl made an excellent bargain that day.
Towards dusk the mercer left the shop to the care of his attendant, and softly stole up to the fourth story. In answer to his gentle ring, a little old woman opened the door, and giving him a rapid look, said briefly,
“Monsieur is inexorable; he won’t see any doctor whatever.”
She was going to shut the door in his face, when Ramin quickly interposed, under his breath, with, “I am not a doctor.”
She looked at him from head to foot.
“Are you a lawyer?”
“Nothing of the sort, my good lady.”
“Well, then, are you a priest?”
“I may almost say, quite the reverse.”