Jules was gratified by the interest paid to his repetition of Blanche's confession of the night before. The Doctor did not interrupt till Jules had mentioned the advice given by the English physician.
"Broughton!" he exclaimed, repeating the name after Jules. "You couldn't have consulted a better man. He's at the head of his profession here in London."
When he had questioned Jules about Blanche's symptoms, he said thoughtfully: "I cannot add anything to the advice Dr. Broughton has given,—that is, of course, with my present knowledge of the case. But I have absolute confidence in his judgment. The pains in the back I do not fear so much as the terrible apprehension that you say haunts your wife. In itself that is, of course, great suffering; and the consequences may be fatal. Your wife's dive requires iron nerve, and that is being constantly weakened by her continual worrying. I agree with Dr. Broughton that she at least needs a rest as soon as possible. There can't be two opinions about that. But I should not like to interfere with Dr. Broughton's—"
Jules understood at once, and rose from his seat.
"I merely wanted to see what you thought. If you had disagreed—"
"Ah, but Dr. Broughton is very reliable!" said the Frenchman, with a smile and a shrug, as if afraid of even a suggestion of professional discourtesy.
Jules left him feeling bitterly disappointed. There was no hope then! He had surmised that the shrewd-eyed Englishman knew his business. There was nothing to do but to go to Marshall and explain the situation.
When he returned from the Hippodrome to the apartment Blanche met him at the door. His face was darkened with a scowl.
"What did he say?" she asked nervously, as he entered and threw his overcoat on a chair. "Was he—was he angry?"
"Angry? No; he was altogether too cool. If he'd been angry I shouldn't have cared. I'd have liked that a good deal better."