“We have always fifteen or twenty, and from all parts of the world. Look at my roll.”
The doctor rose and drew out from the mass of pamphlets and papers on his table a big roll-book.
“I have the names of those who have taken my lectures. Here is an Egyptian, many Russians, a Turk, numbers from South America, from Canada, from the East, from everywhere. Let us look for your compatriots.”
Doctor Roux ran his finger down the pages. “Here is one, Doctor Orchinard of New Orleans. Here another, Doctor Tabadie of New York; and then there is Kenyoun of the 337 United States Marine Service. But there have been more students in the institution from South America than from North.
THE LIBRARY.
“The department of original work is in the third story, and is under Doctor Metchnikoff, who is, you know, a Russian who has established himself here in order to devote himself to scientific investigation. Doctor Metchnikoff is aided by his wife, who acts as preparateur. She is an assistant of great skill and delicacy. He receives no salary for his labor. There are, in fact, three of the leading members of our faculty who receive no salary—M. Pasteur himself, M. Ducloux, and M. Metchnikoff. They have resigned the award they deserve because of our insufficient income.”
“But the common opinion is that you are rich here.”
“I know, but it is a mistake. The Pasteur Institute is very poorly endowed. Its yearly income is only about twenty-four thousand dollars. This revenue comes from three sources: the small appropriations made by the government, the income from the remnant of the private subscription with which it was built, and the product of the sales of vaccine. The fact that we can partly support ourselves,” added the doctor, laughingly, “is the best proof one can have of the practicability of bacteriology.