“It’s the most horrible moment of my life.  I am at your mercy.  I only gave you my honest opinion, the result of my experience.  If I had known your name—­naturally—­”

“You had better go,” said Sypher in a queer voice, digging the nails into the palms of his hands.  “Your fee—?”

“There is no question of it.  I am only grieved to the heart at having wounded you.  Good morning.”

The door closed behind him, and Sypher gave himself up to his furious indignation.

* * * * *

This soothed the soul but further inflamed the ankle.  He called up the manager of the hotel and sent for the leading medical man in Geneva.  When he arrived he took care to acquaint him with his name and quality.  Dr. Bourdillot, professor of dermatology in the University of Geneva, made his examination, and shook a tactful head.  With all consideration for the many admirable virtues of la cure Sypher, yet there were certain maladies of the skin for which he personally would not prescribe it.  For this, for that—­he rattled off half a dozen of learned diseases—­it might very well be efficacious.  Its effect would probably be benign in a case of elephantiasis.  But in a case of abrasion of the cuticle, where there was a large surface of raw flesh laid bare, perhaps a simpler treatment might be more desirable.

His tone was exquisite, and he chose his language so that not a word could wound.  Sypher listened to him with a sinking heart.

“In your opinion then, doctor,” said he, “it isn’t a good thing for blistered heels?”

“You ask for my opinion,” replied the professor of dermatology at the University of Geneva.  “I give it you.  No.”

Sypher threw out a hand, desperately argumentative.

“But I know of a case in which it has proved efficacious.  A Zouave of my acquaintance—­”

Dr. Bourdillot smiled.  “A Zouave?  Just as nothing is sacred to a sapper, so is nothing hurtful to a Zouave.  They have hides like hippopotamuses, those fellows.  You could dip them in vitriol and they wouldn’t feel it.”

“So his heels recovered in spite of the Cure?” said Sypher, grimly.

“Evidently,” said Dr. Bourdillot.

* * * * *

Sypher sat in his room for a couple of days, his leg on a chair, and looked at Mont Blanc, exquisite in its fairy splendor against the far, pale sky.  It brought him no consolation.  On the contrary it reminded him of Hannibal and other conquerors leading their footsore armies over the Alps.  When he allowed a despondent fancy to wander uncontrolled, he saw great multitudes of men staggering shoeless along with feet and ankles inflamed to the color of tomatoes.  Then he pulled himself together and set his teeth.  Dennymede came to visit him and heard with dismay the verdict of science, which crushed his hope of a high position in the new Army Contract Department.  But Sypher reassured him as to his material welfare by increasing his commission on foreign sales; whereupon he began to take a practical view of the situation.