"It's here," said Mark, touching him now. "It came of itself--venait tout seule, grande at first comme the tête of an épingle, not much more; à présent larger than a big pea--a petite pois."
The doctor's ear was strained, and a faint light broke upon it. He had enjoyed the pleasure of conversing with English patients before; in fact it was mostly from them that he was enabled to shine in the language.
"Ah, je vois. Pardon, sare, it not a blessure, it a--a--clou--a bouton? I ask, sare, is it a button?"
"It's a lump," returned Mark, staring very much. "A sort of a kernel, you know. Comprends, Messeu?" he questioned, in no hurry, perhaps, to make any worse suggestion.
The doctor gravely nodded; not caring to confess his ignorance. "When did he arrive, sare?"
"When did who arrive?"
"Him--the mal, sare."
"Oh, the lump. Several weeks back--quelques semaines, Messeu. Pas beaucoup de trouble avec; de pain! mais trouve nervous this morning, and--and--thought she'd like a doctor's opinion," concluded Mark, his French completely breaking down.
"Bon," said the surgeon, wishing Mark did not talk English quite so fast. "Madame has not consultayed a docteur donc, encore?"
"Only me," replied Mark. "I'm a doctor myself--docteur moi-même, Messeu."