I run then to the bookbinder's, where I left my Johnson, who lives close by in the square.
The door is half open; I hear low groans; I enter without knocking, and I see the bookbinder by the bedside of his fellow-lodger.

This latter has a violent fever and delirium.

Pierre looks at him perplexed and out of humor.

I learn from him that his comrade was not able to get up in the morning, and that since then he has become worse every hour.
I ask whether they have sent for a doctor.
"Oh, yes, indeed!" replied Pierre, roughly; "one must have money in one's pocket for that, and this fellow has only debts instead of savings." "But you," said I, rather astonished; "are you not his friend ?" "Friend!" interrupted the bookbinder.

"Yes, as much as the shaft-horse is friend to the leader--on condition that each will take his share of the draught, and eat his feed by himself." "You do not intend, however, to leave him without any help ?" "Bah! he may keep in his bed till to-morrow, as I'm going to the ball." "You mean to leave him alone ?" "Well! must I miss a party of pleasure at Courtville--[A Parisian summer resort.]--because this fellow is lightheaded ?" asked Pierre, sharply.