‘He must be made to walk about,’ I said.  ’You would be extremely kind to help me.’

‘No, madame,’ she replied.  ’He will be very well like that.  When one is alcoholic, one cannot poison one’s self; it is impossible.  All the doctors will tell you as much.  Your friend will sleep for twenty hours—­twenty-four hours—­and he will waken himself quite re-established.’

‘You are sure?  You know?’

’I know, madame.  Be tranquil.  Leave him.  He could not have done better.  It is perfect.’

‘Perhaps I should fetch a doctor?’ I suggested.

‘It is not worth the pain,’ she said, with conviction.  ’You would have vexations uselessly.  Leave him.’

I gazed at her, studying her, and I was satisfied.  With her fluffly locks, and her simple eyes, and her fragile face, and her long hands, she had, nevertheless, the air of knowing profoundly her subject.  She was a great expert on males and all that appertained to them, especially their vices.  I was the callow amateur.  I was compelled to listen with respect to this professor in the professor’s garb.  I was impressed, in spite of myself.

‘One might arrange him more comfortably,’ she said.

And we lifted the senseless victim, and put him on his back, and straightened his limbs, as though he had been a corpse.

‘How handsome he is!’ murmured my visitor, half closing her eyes.

‘You think so?’ I said politely, as if she had been praising one of my private possessions.

’Oh yes.  We are neighbours, madame.  I have frequently remarked him, you understand, on the stairs, in the street.’

‘Has he been here long?’ I asked.

’About a year, madame.  You have, perhaps, not seen him since a long time.  An old friend?’

‘It is ten years ago,’ I replied.

‘Ah!  Ten years!  In England, without doubt?’

‘In England, yes.’

‘Ten years!’ she repeated, musing.

‘I am certain she has a kind heart,’ I said to myself, and I decided to question her:  ‘Will you not sit down, madame?’ I invited her.

‘Ah, madame! it is you who should sit down,’ she said quickly.  ’You must have suffered.’

We both sat down.  There were only two chairs in the room.

‘I would like to ask you,’ I said, leaning forward towards her, ’have you ever seen him—­drunk—­before?’

‘No,’ she replied instantly; ‘never before yesterday evening.’

‘Be frank,’ I urged her, smiling sadly.

‘Why should I not be frank, madame?’ she said, with a grave, gentle appeal.

It was as if she had said:  ’We are talking woman to woman.  I know one of your secrets.  You can guess mine.  The male is present, but he is deaf.  What reason, therefore, for deceit?’

‘I am much obliged to you,’ I breathed.

‘Not at all,’ she said.  ‘Decidedly he is alcoholic—­that sees itself,’ she proceeded.  ‘But drunk—­no!...  He was always alone.’