CHAPTER XVII
RIVIÈRE IS CALLED BACK
There are two sides to Wiesbaden. The one is with the gay, cosmopolitan life that saunters along the Wilhelmstrasse and dallies with the allurements of the most enticing shops in Germany; suns itself in the gardens of the Kursaal or on the wind-sheltered slopes of the Neroberg; listens to an orchestra of master-artists in the open or to a prima donna in the brilliance of the opera-house; dines, wines, gambles, dissipates, burns the lamp of life under forced draught.
The other side is with the life behind the curtains of the nursing homes, where dim flickers of life and health are jealously watched and tended. Wiesbaden is both a Bond Street and a Harley Street. Specialists in medicine and surgery have their consulting rooms a few doors away from those of specialists in jewellery, flowers or confectionery. Their names and their specialities are prominent on door-plates almost as though they were competing against the lures of the traders.
But Dr Hegelmann had no need to cry his services in the market-place. His consulting rooms and nursing home were hidden amongst the evergreens of a cool, restful garden well away from the flaunting life of the Wilhelmstrasse. By the door his name and titles were inscribed in inconspicuous lettering on a small black marble tablet. His specialty needed no proclaiming.
Rivière found the great surgeon curiously uncouth in appearance. His brown, grey-streaked beard was longer than customary and ragged in outline; his eyebrows projected like a sea-captain's; his almost bald head seemed to be stretched tight over a framework of knobs and bumps; his clothes were baggy and shapeless. But all these unessentials faded away from sight when Dr Hegelmann spoke. His voice was wonderfully compelling—a voice tuned to a sympathy all-embracing. His voice could make even German sound musical. And his hands were the hands of a musician.
Before bringing Elaine into the consulting-room, Rivière explained the facts of the vitriol outrage, gave into his hands the letter of advice from the doctor at Nîmes, and then broached the subject of payment. They spoke in German, because Dr Hegelmann had steadfastly refused to learn any language beyond his own. All his energies of learning had been focused on his one specialty.
"I want to explain," said Rivière, "that Fraülein Verney is not well-to-do. She is, I believe, practically dependent on her profession."
"Then we shall adjust the scale of payment to whatever she can afford," answered the doctor readily. "I value my rich patients only because they can pay me for my poorer patients."
"Many thanks. But that was not quite my meaning. I want to ask you to charge her at the lowest rate, and allow me to make up the difference."
"Without letting her know it."