Here he ceased to talk, closed his eyes restfully, and became more quiet. For an hour I sat and watched him. Had it not been for an occasional pressure of his fingers in my hand I should have thought him asleep. Finally he opened his eyes and with childlike sympathy sought mine.
"Monsieur Doctor," he said, "I have not yet made the request."
"O," I said with surprise. I had thought it referred to the duration of his illness.
"You say I shall die?" he said.
"No, I have not said so," I answered.
"Very well. We'll not discuss it. No matter.... But the request.... On my desk you will find an envelope upon which is the address of a dealer in horses in the city of New Orleans. Inside the envelope is three hundred dollars. It will be enough, I am sure.... That sum should pay a passage to New Orleans and return and buy a little mare, should it not, Monsieur?"
"It would be more than enough," I replied, puzzled.
"It is asking a great deal of you, Monsieur," he said with hesitancy.
"It is nothing.... Nothing would be too much," and I pressed the hand of the little St. Jacques in sympathy. I was beginning to understand.
"Thank you," he continued gratefully. "If—if I should die, Monsieur, would it be asking too much of you to go to that city and inquire of the dealer for the little mare left with him last twenty-fourth of December by the Abbé Picot? He will remember, and he promised me to keep her at my disposal for three months. Buy her from him, Monsieur, and bring her back here with you. She is a part of this estate and my will gives her into hands that love.... Would this be asking too much, Monsieur Doctor? It is a great deal."