He was a short, fat, brisk gentleman who wore the tall hat of his
profession and seemed to look at everything but his patient.
He looked particularly at me, as if it struck him that I
should be better for a dose, so that I bowed to him and left
him with the women, going down to smoke a cigar in the garden.
I was nervous; I could not go further; I could not leave the place.
I don't know exactly what I thought might happen, but it seemed
to me important to be there. I wandered about in the alleys--
the warm night had come on--smoking cigar after cigar and looking
at the light in Miss Bordereau's windows. They were open now,
I could see; the situation was different. Sometimes the light moved,
but not quickly; it did not suggest the hurry of a crisis.
Was the old woman dying, or was she already dead? Had the doctor
said that there was nothing to be done at her tremendous age but to
let her quietly pass away; or had he simply announced with a look
a little more conventional that the end of the end had come?
Were the other two women moving about to perform the offices that
follow in such a case? It made me uneasy not to be nearer, as if I
thought the doctor himself might carry away the papers with him.
I bit my cigar hard as it came over me again that perhaps there
were now no papers to carry!
I wandered about for an hour--for an hour and a half.
I looked out for Miss Tita at one of the windows, having a
vague idea that she might come there to give me some sign.
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