"That is the only event in which I can forgive the torture you have been inflicting upon me."
"That is the true event."
"But it's not possible," Julian said. "It's not conceivable. Surely, doctor, you would not say—"
The doctor interrupted him.
"I cannot believe that Cresswell would deliberately commit an outrage upon me," he said. "And it would be an outrage to sing like that to a tired man. Weeks of work would not fatigue me as I am fatigued by Cresswell's music."
Julian was silent and looked uneasy. Valentine repeated again:
"I couldn't help it. I am sorry."
Doctor Levillier ignored the remark. His professional interest was beginning to be aroused. For the first time he felt convinced that some very peculiar and bizarre change was dawning over the youth he knew so well. He wanted to watch it grow or fade, to analyze it, to study it, to be aware of its exact nature. But he did not want to put either Valentine or Julian upon the alert. So he spoke lightly as he said:
"But I shall soon get the better of my fatigue, even without the usual medicine. Cresswell, take my advice, give your music a rest. Lock your piano again for a while. It will be better."
Valentine shut down the lid on the instant, and turned the little key in the lock.