“Well,” he said, “I have had a little study in medicines. I think you are going to die.”
“That is consoling,” I remarked. “What will the transition lead me to?”
“You know best yourself,” he said.
During the repast he did not speak much; but when it was over he took me to a smaller room, a comfortable and private little place fitted with every luxury.
There was a fire burning there, for always in the air, despite the many flowers that grew outside, there was a sharpness which was very pleasant to those who could appreciate it.
He threw himself down on a sofa and I took an easy chair opposite to him. I was tired, with that weariness and lassitude which takes the place of bodily infirmity. After a while he took out a pipe and filled it with a substance from a cedar box upon the mantelpiece.
“I will not offer you this,” he told me. “You would not appreciate it, though it is far superior to any earthly thing of the same class.”
He lay back smoking in quiet contentment, and I watched him, a certain amount of interest keeping my eyes open, otherwise I should have fallen asleep.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked at length.
“Nothing particular. I was studying you to the best of my poor ability.”