CHAPTER III.
THE CONSULTATION.
THE consulting-room was better lighted than the waiting-room, and that was the only difference between the two.

In the one, as in the other, no attempt was made to impress the imagination.

Everywhere, the commonplace furniture of a London lodging-house was left without the slightest effort to alter or improve it by changes of any kind.
Seen under the clearer light, Doctor Lagarde appeared to be the last person living who would consent to degrade himself by an attempt at imposture of any kind.

His eyes were the dreamy eyes of a visionary; his look was the prematurely-aged look of a student, accustomed to give the hours to his book which ought to have been given to his bed.

To state it briefly, he was a man who might easily be deceived by others, but who was incapable of consciously practicing deception himself.
Signing to his visitor to be seated, he took a chair on the opposite side of the small table that stood between them--waited a moment with his face hidden in his hands, as if to collect himself--and then spoke.
"Do you come to consult me on a case of illness ?" he inquired, "or do you ask me to look to the darkness which hides your future life ?" The answer to these questions was frankly and briefly expressed.