"I forgot it," he said.
"_C'est dommage_. You 'ave not taken it yourself by any chance?"
"No--I wouldn't do that at any rate."
"_C'est vrai_. I ask--you 'ave an air _un peu souffrant_. Well, never
mind. It's droll though--I think about you just when you ring up--I
'ave a damn pain--not ze tummy-ache this time--and I say: '_Le pauvre
jeune homme_, 'ere is a chance for 'im to pay me out for kissing 'im
when 'e don't want to be kissed.' You remember--I say I send for you
one day. But ze old pain--it 'as gone now. You--'ow do you say?--you
conjure it away."
"Your pains don't interest me," he said. "For one thing I don't
believe you ever had any. I suppose you think a pain is the best
entertainment to offer a doctor. It's thoughtful of you, but I didn't
come here to be amused."
"Then I wonder what you want of me," she remarked. She went back to
her place on the fountain's edge, sitting amidst the flowers and
crushing them under her hands. The pose appealed to him as
expressively callous, and yet it was innocent too, the pose of a child
or an animal who destroys without knowledge or ill-will.
"Do people usually want things from you?" he asked.
"Always--all ze time."
"And you give so much."
She eyed him seriously.
"I give what I 'ave to give."
"And take what you can get."
"Like you, _Monsieur le docteur_."
The absoluteness of his hatred made it possible for him to laugh with
her.
"My fees are fairly reasonable at any rate.
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