"He is suffering," muttered Waldemar.
"Or at least, he is pretending to suffer," declared the Emperor, "and pretending very cleverly at that. What an actor!"
Lupin stammered:
"An injection, doctor, an injection of caffeine . . . at once. . . ."
"May I, Sire?" asked the doctor.
"Certainly. . . . Until twelve o'clock, do all that he asks. He has my promise."
"How many minutes . . . before twelve o'clock?" asked Lupin.
"Forty," said somebody.
"Forty? . . . I shall do it. . . . I am sure to do it. . . . I've got to do it. . . ." He took his head in his two hands. "Oh, if I had my brain, the real brain, the brain that thinks! It would be a matter of a second! There is only one dark spot left . . . but I cannot . . . my thoughts escape me. . . . I can't grasp it . . . it's awful."
His shoulders shook. Was he crying?