endeavored to delay them with all sorts of stories. He told of the
days when Aunt Dide talked, and he affirmed that he had found her one
morning singing a romance of her youth. And then he had no need of the
carriage, he would take the boy back on foot, since they left him to
him.

"Kiss your papa, my boy, for you know now that you see him, but you
don't know whether you shall ever see him again or not."

With the same surprised and indifferent movement Charles raised his
head, and Maxime, troubled, pressed another kiss on his forehead.

"Be very good and very pretty, my pet. And love me a little."

"Come, come, we have no time to lose," repeated Felicite.

But the keeper here re-entered the room. She was a stout, vigorous
girl, attached especially to the service of the madwoman. She carried
her to and from her bed, night and morning; she fed her and took care
of her like a child. And she at once entered into conversation with
Dr. Pascal, who questioned her. One of the doctor's most cherished
dreams was to cure the mad by his treatment of hypodermic injections.
Since in their case it was the brain that was in danger, why should
not hypodermic injections of nerve substance give them strength and
will, repairing the breaches made in the organ? So that for a moment
he had dreamed of trying the treatment with the old mother; then he
began to have scruples, he felt a sort of awe, without counting that
madness at that age was total, irreparable ruin. So that he had chosen
another subject--a hatter named Sarteur, who had been for a year past
in the asylum, to which he had come himself to beg them to shut him up