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"
People
are
always
talking
,
that
’
s
normal
,
"
Rieux
said
.
"
You
’
re
right
.
And
when
a
dozen
people
die
,
they
’
ll
say
it
’
s
the
end
of
the
world
.
It
’
s
just
what
we
don
’
t
need
.
"
The
engine
was
already
ticking
over
.
Rieux
’
s
hand
was
on
the
gear
-
stick
.
But
he
looked
once
more
at
the
child
,
who
was
still
staring
at
him
with
a
serious
,
unruffled
air
.
Then
suddenly
,
with
no
stopping
halfway
,
the
child
gave
him
a
beaming
smile
.
"
So
what
do
we
need
?
"
the
doctor
asked
,
smiling
back
at
the
child
.
Cottard
suddenly
grasped
the
door
and
,
before
hurrying
away
,
cried
out
in
a
voice
full
of
tears
and
fury
:
"
An
earthquake
!
A
real
one
!
"
There
was
no
earthquake
and
,
for
Rieux
,
the
following
day
passed
merely
in
long
trips
to
the
four
corners
of
town
,
discussions
with
his
patients
’
families
and
talks
with
the
patients
themselves
.
Never
had
he
found
his
job
so
hard
to
bear
.
Up
to
then
,
sick
people
had
made
it
easy
for
him
,
they
had
come
halfway
to
meet
him
.
Now
,
for
the
first
time
,
the
doctor
felt
that
they
were
reticent
,
retreating
into
the
depths
of
their
illness
with
a
kind
of
suspicious
astonishment
.
This
was
a
struggle
to
which
he
had
not
yet
become
accustomed
.
Around
ten
o
’
clock
,
stopping
his
car
in
front
of
the
house
of
the
old
asthma
patient
whom
he
always
went
to
visit
last
,
Rieux
found
it
hard
to
rise
out
of
his
seat
.
He
stayed
there
,
looking
at
the
dark
street
and
the
stars
appearing
and
disappearing
in
the
black
sky
.
The
old
asthmatic
was
sitting
up
in
bed
.
He
seemed
to
be
breathing
more
easily
and
was
counting
chick
-
peas
as
he
transferred
them
from
one
saucepan
to
another
.
He
greeted
the
doctor
cheerfully
.
"
So
doctor
,
is
it
cholera
?
"
"
Where
did
you
get
that
idea
?
"
