I resumed my work, hoping that he would perhaps give me some explanation of the events of the preceding night. He made none. I looked at him. He seemed fatigued; his heavy eyes had not been refreshed by sleep; his face looked very sorrowful. He walked to and fro, sat down and got up again, took a chance book, put it down, consulted his instruments without taking his habitual notes, and seemed restless and uneasy. At last, he came up to me, and said: “Are you a doctor, M. Aronnax?” I so little expected such a question that I stared some time at him without answering. “Are you a doctor?” he repeated. “Several of your colleagues have studied medicine.” “Well,” said I, “I am a doctor and resident surgeon to the hospital. I practised several years before entering the museum.” “Very well, sir.” My answer had evidently satisfied the Captain. But, not knowing what he would say next, I waited for other questions, reserving my answers according to circumstances. “M. Aronnax, will you consent to prescribe for one of my men?” he asked. “Is he ill?” “Yes.” “I am ready to follow you.” “Come, then.” I own my heart beat, I do not know why. I saw certain connection between the illness of one of the crew and the events of the day before; and this mystery interested me at least as much as the sick man.