"Well, Dumais, it depends upon you to restore me to health. Though I may not look it, I am sick, more sick than you could imagine."
"Indeed," said Dumais, "you are pale, and sadder than of old. Good heaven! What is the matter?"
"Have you ever heard of a malady to which the English are very subject, and which they call the spleen, or blue devils?"
"No," said Dumais. "I have known several of your English who, if I may say it without offense, seemed to have the devil in them; but I had imagined that these devils were of a darker hue."
Archie began to laugh.
"What we, my dear Dumais, call the blue devils is known among you Canadians as 'peine d'esprit.'"
"I understand now," said Dumais, "but what astonishes me is that a man like you, with everything heart could wish, should be amusing himself with blue devils."
"My dear Dumais," replied Archie, "I might answer that every one in the world has his sorrows, however fortunate he may seem; but it is enough now to say that the malady is upon me, and that I count upon you to help me to a cure."
"Command me, Mr. Archie; for I am at your service day and night."
"I have tried everything," continued Archie. "I have tried study, I have tried literary work. I am better in the day-time, but my nights are usually sleepless, and when I do sleep, I wake up as miserable as ever. I have concluded that nothing but hard manual labor can cure me. After toiling all day, I imagine that I shall win such a slumber as has long been denied me."