Secord was a brilliant surgeon and physician. With the knife or beside a
sick-bed, he was admirable. His intuitive perception, so necessary in
his work, was very fine: he appeared to get at the core of a patient's
trouble, and to decide upon necessary action with instant and absolute
confidence. Some delicate operation performed by him was recorded and
praised in the Lancet; and he was offered a responsible post in a medical
college, and, at the same time, the good-will of a valuable practice. He
declined both, to the lasting astonishment, yet personal joy, of the Cure
and the Avocat; but, as time went on, not so much to the surprise of the
Little Chemist and Medallion. After three years, the sleepy Little
Chemist waked up suddenly in his chair one day, and said: "Parbleu, God
bless me!" (he loved to mix his native language with English) got up and
went over to Secord's office, adjusted his glasses, looked at Secord
closely, caught his hand with both of his own, shook it with shy
abruptness, came back to his shop, sat down, and said: "God bless my
soul! Regardez ca!"

Medallion made his discovery sooner. Watching closely he had seen a
pronounced deliberation infused through all Secord's indolence of manner,
and noticed that often, before doing anything, the big eyes debated
steadfastly, and the long, slender fingers ran down the beard softly.
At times there was a deep meditativeness in the eye, again a dusky fire.
But there was a certain charm through it all--a languid precision,
a slumbering look in the face, a vague undercurrent in the voice,
a fantastical flavour to the thought. The change had come so gradually
that only Medallion and the wife had a real conception of how great it
was. Medallion had studied Secord from every stand-point. At the very
first he wondered if there was a woman in it. Much thinking on a woman,
whose influence on his life was evil or disturbing, might account