"I will walk down with you as far as the hotel," said Bergan, coming out, and closing the gate behind him. "Perhaps I may be able to pick up a few seeds of sleep on the way, which will sprout into another nap, when I return. What a night it is!"
"For lunatics—yes," said the doctor dryly.
"Among which you would doubtless class your humble servant," returned Bergan, "if you could look into his mind, at this moment."
"Very likely," rejoined Doctor Remy, indifferently; but he gave his companion a quick, keen glance, nevertheless.
Bergan was looking straight before him. "Doctor," said he, suddenly, "I believe you know the world well; what does it do to the man who goes counter to its traditions and prejudices,—whom, in short, it is pleased to look upon as a kind of modern Don Quixote?"
"Laughs at him first, hammers him next, flings him aside last," returned the doctor, sententiously.
"But if he does not mind being laughed at, bears the hammering without flinching when he must, hammers back again when he may, and will not be flung aside, what then?" pursued Bergan.
The doctor stopped short in his walk, and looked long and searchingly in the young man's face. "Then," said he, slowly, as if the words were drawn out of him almost against his will,—"then it gives way to him, and honors its conqueror. But," he added, "it is a long, exhausting contest. I do not advise you to try it."
"Thank you," answered Bergan, quietly. "I am inclined to try it, nevertheless. But here we are at the hotel. Good night."
Doctor Remy stood on the steps of the hotel, looking moodily after him.