Somewhere in the building a clock struck three, and at that instant there was a tap at the door, and Alresca’s valet discreetly entered.

“Monsieur rang?”

“No, Alexis.  Leave us.”

Comprehending that it was at last Alresca’s hour for retiring, I rose to leave, and called the man back.

“Good night, dear friend,” said Alresca, pressing my hand.  “I shall expect you to-morrow, and in the meantime a room shall be prepared for you.  Au revoir.”

Alexis conducted me to the door.  As he opened it he made a civil remark about the beauty of the night.  I glanced at his face.

“You are English, aren’t you?” I asked him.

“Yes, sir.”

“I only ask because Alexis is such a peculiar name for an Englishman.”

“It is merely a name given to me by Monsieur Alresca when I entered his service several years ago.  My name is John Smedley.”

“Well, Mr. Smedley,” I said, putting half a sovereign into his hand, “I perceive that you are a man of intelligence.”

“Hope so, sir.”

“I am a doctor, and to-morrow, as I dare say you heard, I am coming to live here with your master in order to attend him medically.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He says he is suffering from some mysterious complaint, Smedley.”

“He told me as much, sir.”

“Do you know what that complaint is?”

“Haven’t the least idea, sir.  But he always seems low like, and he gets lower, especially during the nights.  What might the complaint be, sir?”

“I wish I could tell you.  By the way, haven’t you had trained nurses there?”

“Yes, sir.  The other doctor sent two.  But the governor dismissed ’em yesterday.  He told me they worried him.  Me and the butler does what’s necessary.”

“You say he is more depressed during the nights—­you mean he shows the effects of that depression in the mornings?”

“Just so, sir.”

“I am going to be confidential, Smedley.  Are you aware if your master has any secret trouble on his mind, any worry that he reveals to no one?”

“No, sir, I am not.”

“Thank you, Smedley.  Good night.”

“Good night, sir, and thank you.”

I had obtained no light from Alexis, and I sought in vain for an explanation of my patient’s condition.  Of course, it was plausible enough to argue that his passion for Rosa was at the root of the evil; but I remembered Rosa’s words to me in the carriage, and I was disposed to agree with them.  To me, as to her, it seemed that, though Alresca was the sort of man to love deeply, he was not the sort of man to allow an attachment, however profound or unfortunate, to make a wreck of his existence.  No.  If Alresca was dying, he was not dying of love.

As Alexis had remarked, it was a lovely summer night, and after quitting the Devonshire I stood idly on the pavement, and gazed about me in simple enjoyment of the scene.