"You have a soft, pliant skin, and sixty-five pulsations to the minute. It would be impossible to find conditions of better health."
"But, again, doctor, I—"
"But, again, abbé, you are not sick. I am a good judge, perhaps."
"And I tell you, doctor, that I have not closed my eyes the whole night. Madame Siboulet, my housekeeper, has been on her feet constantly,—she gave me several times some drops made by the good sisters."
"Stuff!"
"And orange flower distilled at the Sacred Heart."
"The devil!"
"Yes, doctor, you may laugh; none of these remedies have given me relief. I have done nothing but turn over and over all night long in my bed. Alas, alas! I am not well. I have an excitement, an insupportable weariness."
"Perhaps, my dear abbé, you experienced yesterday some annoyance, some contradiction, and as you are very obstinate, very conceited, very spiteful—"
"I?"