For perhaps five minutes the doctor remained at the bedside; then, closing his little black bag, he laid it upon the table, and turned to Raymond.
“Now, father,” he said cheerily, “I understand there's a couch all ready for you in the front room. I'll be here for the balance of the night. You go and get some sleep.”
Raymond motioned toward the bed.
“Is there any change?” he asked.
The doctor shook his head.
“Then,” said Raymond quietly, “my place is still here.” He smiled soberly. “The couch is for you, doctor.”
“But,” protested the doctor, “I——”
“The man is dying. My place is here,” said Raymond again. “If you are needed, I have only to call you from the next room. There is no reason why both of us should sit up.”
“Hum—tiens—well, well!”—the doctor pulled at his beard. “No, of course, not—no reason why both should sit up. And if you insist——”
“I do not insist,” interposed Raymond, smiling again. “It is only that in any case I shall remain.”