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           Rieuxtriedafixationabscess.Astheturpentineburnedhim,theconciergescreamed:"Oh,theswine!"Thelymphnodeshadswollenevenmoreandwerehardandwoodentothetouch.Hiswifewasinaterriblestate.

           "Keepaneyeonhim,"saidthedoctor."Andcallmeifyouneed."

           Thefollowingday,April30,analreadywarmbreezewasblowingbeneathadampbluesky.Itbroughtascentofflowersfromthemostdistantsuburbs.Thesoundsofmorninginthestreetsseemedlivelierandmerrierthanusual.Throughoutourlittletown,freedfromthedullsenseofforebodingwhichithadenduredforaweek,thiswasadayofrebirth.EvenRieux,reassuredbyaletterfromhiswife,wentdowntoseetheconciergeinalight-heartedmood.Andthatmorning,indeed,theman’stemperaturehadfallento38degrees.Thoughweak,thepatientwassmilinginhisbed.

           "He’simproving,doctor,isn’the?"saidhiswife.

           "It’sabittoosoontosay."

           Butatnoonthepatient’stemperaturesuddenlyroseto40degrees,hewasconstantlydeliriousandvomitingagain.Thelymphnodesinhisneckwerepainfultothetouchandtheconciergeseemedtowanttokeephisheadasfaraspossibleawayfromhisbody.Hiswifewassittingattheendofthebedwithherhandsontheblanket,gentlyholdingthesickman’sfeet.ShelookedatRieux.

           "Listen,"hesaid."We’llhavetoisolatehimandtrysomeemergencytreatment.