“Well,” said Adams, as he entered the room. “How are you to-day?”
“Oh, about the same, about the same. If I could sleep properly I would mend, but my sleep is broken.”
“I must give you something to alter that.”
Berselius laughed.
“Drugs?”
“Yes, drugs. We doctors cannot always command health, but we can command sleep. Do you feel yourself able to talk for a bit?”
“Oh, yes, I feel physically well. Sit down, you will find some cigars in that cabinet.”
Adams lit a cigar and took his seat in an armchair close to his companion. All differences of rank and wealth were sunk between these two men who had gone through so much together. On their return, when Berselius had desired Adams to remain as his medical attendant, he had delegated M. Pinchon as intermediary to deal with Adams as to the financial side of the question.
Adams received a large salary paid monthly in advance by the secretary. Berselius did not have any hand in the matter, thus the feeling of employer and employed was reduced to vanishing point and the position rendered more equal.
“You know,” said Adams, “I have always been glad to do anything I can for you, and I always shall be, but since I have come back to Paris I have been filled with unrest. You complain of sleeplessness—well, that is my disease.”