She buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed aloud. The Doctor was silent a moment, and then asked:—
“What’s the matter with him?”
“Chills.”
It seemed as though she must break down again, but the Doctor stopped her savagely.
“Well, my dear madam, don’t cry! Come, now, you’re making too much of a small matter. Why, what are chills? We’ll break them in forty-eight hours. He’ll have the best of care. You needn’t cry! Certainly this isn’t as bad as when you were there.”
She was still, but shook her head. She couldn’t agree to that.
“Doctor, will you attend him?”
“Mine is a female ward.”
“I know; but”—
“Oh—if you wish it—certainly; of course I will. But now, where have you moved, Mrs. Richling? I sent”— He looked up over his desk toward that of Narcisse.