‘I thought,’ said Hugo, in a low, unnatural voice, ’that typhoid marked the patient—­spots on the face.’

‘Not invariably.  Oh no; but why do you say that?’

‘I only meant that I hope her face was not marked.’

’It was not.  You mean that you hope her face was not marked because she was so beautiful?’

‘Exactly,’ said Hugo.  ’And so Tudor brought the body over to England for burial?’

’Yes; he insisted on that.  And he insisted on my coming with him.  I could not refuse.’

‘And now he, too, is gone!  Tell me, was he expecting it—­his own death?’

Darcy lighted another cigarette.

‘Who can say?’ he observed to the ceiling.  ’Who can say what premonitions such a man may not have had?’

‘I heard talking before I came into the flat from the balcony,’ said Hugo abruptly.  ‘It went on for a long time.  Was it you and he?’

‘No,’ the doctor replied; ‘I was in here, writing.’  He pointed to some papers on a desk.  ‘I did not even hear him fall.’

‘Yet you heard me?’

’No, I didn’t.  I was just coming to find out what Tudor was doing when I saw you.’

‘It is curious that I heard talking, and walking about, too.’

‘Possibly he was talking to himself.  Did you hear two voices?’

‘Perhaps I heard only one.’

’Then no doubt he was talking to himself.  You won’t be surprised to learn that he had been in an excessively emotional condition all day....  It is all very sad.  Only a month ago, and Tudor was—­but what am I saying?  Who knows what perils and misfortunes he—­they—­may not have escaped?  For my part, I envy—­yes, I envy Tudor.’

’But not her?  You do not envy her?  In your quality of philosophy, you regret her death?’

‘Do not ask me to be consistent,’ said the philosopher, after a long pause.

Hugo rose and approached Darcy.

‘Are you acquainted with a man named Louis Ravengar?’ he demanded in a rather loud tone.

The doctor scanned his face.

‘I have heard Tudor mention the name, but I do not know him.’

‘And upon my soul I believe you,’ cried Hugo.  ‘Nevertheless—­’

‘Nevertheless what?’

Darcy seemed startled.  Hugo’s strange outburst was indeed startling.

‘Oh, nothing!’ Hugo muttered.  ‘Nothing.’  He walked to the window, which looked out on Blair Street.  The first heralds of the dawn were in the eastern sky, and the moon overhead was paling.  ’It will be daylight in a minute,’ he said.  ’I must go.  Come with me first to the drawing-room, will you?’

And they passed together along the passage to the drawing-room, where the electric lamp was still keeping watch.  Hugo stood by the side of the coffin.

‘What is it?’ Darcy quietly asked.

‘Have you ever been in love?’ Hugo questioned him.

‘Yes,’ said Darcy.