"He has assured me of it."
"What did he say? How did he tell you I had shown signs of insanity?"
"He said you had tried to drown yourself in the lake, and, being foiled in that, had made an attempt to poison him. Surely this is enough to warrant his sending you to me."
"Did he utter these infamous falsehoods?" demanded Ben, startled.
"Of course you pronounce them falsehoods, my young friend, and doubtless you believe what you say. I am quite sure you have no recollection of what you did. This is one of your sane periods. At this moment you are as sane as I am."
"You admit that?" said Ben, in surprise.
"Certainly, for it is true. Your insanity is fitful—paroxysmal. Half an hour hence you may stand in need of a strait-jacket. If you were always as clear in mind as at present there would be no need of detaining you. I would open my door and say, 'Go, my young friend. You do not need my care.' Unfortunately, we do not know how long this mood may last."
The doctor spoke smoothly and plausibly, and it was hard for Ben to tell whether he was really in earnest or not. He regarded M. Bourdon intently, and thought he detected a slight mocking smile, which excited his doubt and distrust anew. To appeal to such a man seemed well-nigh hopeless, but there was nothing else to do.
"Are you the doctor?" he asked.
"Yes; I am Dr. Bourdon," was the reply.