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‘Do they? Shall we get on with our work?’
He held the book open and Philip, intimidated, began to
translate the passage he had prepared.
One day Monsieur Ducroz seemed to be in great pain. He
had been scarcely able to drag himself up the many stairs to
Philip’s room: and when he arrived sat down heavily, his
sallow face drawn, with beads of sweat on his forehead, try-
ing to recover himself.
‘I’m afraid you’re ill,’ said Philip.
‘It’s of no consequence.’
But Philip saw that he was suffering, and at the end of the
hour asked whether he would not prefer to give no more les-
sons till he was better.
‘No,’ said the old man, in his even low voice. ‘I prefer to
go on while I am able.’
Philip, morbidly nervous when he had to make any refer-
ence to money, reddened.
‘But it won’t make any difference to you,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay
for the lessons just the same. If you wouldn’t mind I’d like
to give you the money for next week in advance.’
Monsieur Ducroz charged eighteen pence an hour. Phil-
ip took a ten-mark piece out of his pocket and shyly put it
on the table. He could not bring himself to offer it as if the
old man were a beggar.
‘In that case I think I won’t come again till I’m better.’ He
took the coin and, without anything more than the elabo-
rate bow with which he always took his leave, went out.
‘Bonjour, monsieur.’
Philip was vaguely disappointed. Thinking he had done

1 Of Human Bondage