“Good; then this must be the door.”
“It cannot be far off, at all events, unless she led me by some detour, which I half suspect.”
“But did she pronounce no name?”
“None.”
“But you remarked something?”
“All that one could with one’s fingers, a door with nails, then a passage, and then a staircase – ”
“On the left?”
“Yes; and I counted the steps. Then I think we came to a corridor, for they opened three doors.”
“Well?”
“Then I heard another voice, and that belonged to the mistress, I am sure; it was sweet and gentle.”
“Yes, yes, it was hers.”
“Good, it was hers.”
“I am sure of it.”
“Then they pushed me into the room where you were, and told me to take off my bandage, when I saw you – ”
“Where was I?”
“On a bed.”
“A bed of white and gold damask?”
“Yes.”
“In a room hung with tapestry?”
“Just so.”
“And a painted ceiling?”
“Yes, and between two windows – ”
“A portrait?”
“Yes.”
“Representing a woman about nineteen?”
“Yes.”
“Blonde, and beautiful as an angel?”
“More beautiful.”
“Bravo! what did you do then?”
“I dressed your wound.”
“And, ma foi! very well.”
“As well as I could.”
“Admirably! this morning it was nearly well.”
“It is thanks to a balm I have composed, and which appears to me sovereign, for many times, not knowing who to practise upon, I have made wounds on myself, and they were always well in two or three days.”
“My dear M. Rémy, you are a charming doctor. Well, afterwards?”
“You fainted again. The voice asked me how you were.”
“From whence?”
“From a room at the side.”
“So you did not see her?”
“No.”
“And you replied?”
“That the wound was not dangerous, and in twenty-four hours would be well.”
“She seemed pleased?”
“Charmed; for she cried, ‘I am very glad of that.’”
“My dear M. Rémy, I will make your fortune. Well?”
“That was all; I had no more to do; and the voice said, ‘M. Rémy – ‘”
“She knew your name?”
“Yes; ‘M. Rémy,’ said she, ‘be a man of honor to the last; do not compromise a poor woman carried away by an excess of humanity. Take your bandage, and let them take you straight home.’”
“You promised?”
“I gave my word.”
“And you kept it?”
“As you see, for I am seeking now.”
“You are an honest man, and here is my hand,” cried Bussy.
“Monsieur, it will be an eternal glory for me to have touched the hand of Bussy d’Amboise. However, I have a scruple. There were ten pistoles in the purse.”
“Well?”
“It is too much for a man who charges five sous for his visits, when he does not give them gratis, and I was seeking the house – ”
“To return the purse?”
“Just so.”
“My dear M. Rémy, it is too much delicacy; you have earned the money well, and may surely keep it.”
“You think so?” said Rémy, well pleased.
“But I also am in your debt; indeed, it was I who ought to have paid you, and not the lady. Come, give me your confidence. What do you do in Paris?”
“What do I do? I do nothing; but I would if I had a connection.”
“Well, that is just right; I will give you a patient. Will you have me? I am famous practise; for there is scarcely a day when I do not deface God’s noblest work for others, or they for me. Will you undertake the care of all the holes I make in the skin of others or others in mine?”
“Ah, M. le Comte! this honor.”
“No; you are just the man I want. You shall come and live with me; you shall have your own rooms, and your own servants; accept, or you will really annoy me.”
“M. le Comte, I am so overjoyed, I cannot express it. I will work – I will make a connection – ”
“But, no, I tell you, I keep you for myself and my friends. Now, do you remember anything more?”
“Nothing.”
“Ah, well! help me to find out, if it be possible.”
“I will.”
“And you, who are a man of observation, how do you account for it, that after being doctored by you, I found myself by the Temple, close to the ditch.”
“You!”
“Yes, I. Did you help to take me there?”
“Certainly not, and I should have opposed it if they had consulted me; for the cold might have done you much harm.”
“Then I can tell nothing. Will you search a little more with me?”
“I will if you wish it; but I much fear it will be useless for all these houses are alike.”
“Well, we must come again by day.”
“Yes; but then we shall be seen.”
“Then we must inquire.”
“We will, monseigneur.”
“And we shall unravel the mystery. Be sure, Rémy, now there are two of us to work.”
CHAPTER XI.
M. BRYAN DE MONSOREAU
It was more than joy, it was almost delirium, which agitated Bussy when he had acquired the certainty that the lady of his dream was a reality, and had, in fact, given him that generous hospitality of which he had preserved the vague remembrance in his heart. He would not let the young doctor go, but, dirty as he was, made him get into the litter with him; he feared that if he lost sight of him, he too would vanish like a dream. He would have liked to talk all night of the unknown lady, and explain to Rémy how superior she was even to her portrait; but Rémy, beginning his functions at once, insisted that he should go to bed: fatigue and pain gave the same counsel and these united powers carried the point.
The next day, on awaking, he found Rémy at his bedside. The young man could hardly believe in his good fortune, and wanted to see Bussy again to be sure of it.
“Well!” said he, “how are you, M. le Comte?”
“Quite well, my dear Esculapius; and you, are you satisfied?”
“So