But the disease makes him ailing within and fevered without; disease makes men more physical, it leaves them nothing but body”⁠—his own thought startled him, and he looked quickly at Joachim with a questioning glance, that travelled from the bared body up to the large, gentle black eyes. Tears stood out in them, from the effort of the forced breathing and coughing and they gazed into space with a pathetic expression as the examination went on.

But at last Hofrat Behrens had come to an end. “Very good, Ziemssen,” he said. “Everything in order, so far as possible. Next time” (that would be in four weeks) “it is bound to show further improvement.”

“And Herr Hofrat, how much longer do you think⁠—”