"Well, and how are you?" I asked.
"Poorly," he said in a flat voice, "poorly—I'm not what I was."
"Nothing serious, I hope?"
"Vell, I'm not on my back yet."
"And the boys? They're still doing well, I hope."
A sort of rigidity came over him: he eyed me furtively and yet sternly.
"Boys? I've only one boy."
"Ah, I'm sorry, very sorry to—"
"No, no, it's not what you think, not that. I've had trouble, but not that. That eldest boy of mine, he's no longer my son——I have done with him; I have only one son now."
There was nothing dejected, nothing humble in him now. He seemed to draw himself together, to become taller. A stiff-necked race, I thought!