Manicamp's concluding words scattered to the winds the last doubt which lingered, not in Madame's heart, but in her head. She was no longer a princess full of scruples, nor a woman with her ever-returning suspicions, but one whose heart had just felt the mortal chill of a wound. "Wounded to death!" she murmured, in a faltering voice, "oh, Monsieur de Manicamp! did you not say, wounded to death?"
Manicamp returned no other answer than a deep sigh.
"And so you said that the comte is dangerously wounded?" continued the princess.
"Yes, madame; one of his hands is shattered, and he has a bullet lodged in his breast."
"Gracious heavens!" resumed the princess, with a feverish excitement, "this is horrible, Monsieur de Manicamp! a hand shattered, do you say, and a bullet in his breast? And that coward! that wretch! that assassin, De Wardes, who did it!"
Manicamp seemed overcome by a violent emotion. He had, in fact, displayed no little energy in the latter part of his speech. As for Madame, she entirely threw aside all regard for the formal observances of propriety which society imposes: for when, with her, passion spoke in accents either of anger or sympathy, nothing could any longer restrain her impulses. Madame approached Manicamp, who had sunk down upon a seat, as if his grief were a sufficiently powerful excuse for his infraction of one of the laws of etiquette. "Monsieur," she said, seizing him by the hand, "be frank with me."
Manicamp looked up.
"Is M. de Guiche in danger of death?"
"Doubly so, madame," he replied; "in the first place on account of the hemorrhage which has taken place, an artery having been injured in the hand; and next, in consequence of the wound in his breast, which may—the doctor is afraid of it, at least—have injured some vital part."
"He may die, then?"
"Die, yes, madame; and without even having had the consolation of knowing that you have been told of his devotion."
"You will tell him."
"I?"
"Yes; are you not his friend?"
"I? oh no, madame. I will only tell M. de Guiche—if, indeed, he is still in a condition to hear me—I will only tell him what I have seen—that is, your cruelty for him."
"Oh, monsieur, you will not be guilty of such barbarity!"
"Indeed, madame, I shall speak the truth, for nature is very energetic in a man of his age. The physicians are clever men, and if, by chance, the poor comte should survive his wound, I should not wish him to die of a wound of the heart, after having escaped that of the body." And Manicamp, rose, and, with an expression of profound respect, seemed to be desirous of taking leave.
"At least, monsieur," said Madame, stopping him with almost a suppliant air, "you will be kind enough to tell me in what state your wounded friend is, and who is the physician who attends him?"
"As regards the state he is in, madame, he is seriously ill; his physician is M. Valot, his majesty's private medical attendant. M. Valot is, moreover, assisted by a professional friend, to whose house M. de Guiche has been carried."
"What! he is not in the chateau?" said Madame.
"Alas, madame! the poor fellow was so ill that he could not even be conveyed hither."
"Give me the address, monsieur," said the princess, hurriedly: "I will send to inquire after him."
"Rue du Feurre: a brick-built house, with white outside blinds. The doctor's name is on the door."
"You are returning to your wounded friend. Monsieur de Manicamp?"
"Yes, madame."
"You will be able, then, to do me a service."
"I am at your highness's orders."
"Do what you intended to do; return to M. de Guiche, send away all those whom you may find there, and have the kindness yourself to go away too."
"Madame—"
"Let us waste no time in useless explanations. Accept the fact as I present it to you; see nothing in it beyond what is really there, and ask nothing further than what I tell you. I am going to send one of my ladies, perhaps two, because it is now getting late. I do not wish them to see you, or, rather, I do not wish you to see them. These are scruples which you can understand—you particularly, Monsieur de Manicamp, who seem to be capable of divining everything."
"Oh, madame, perfectly. I can even do better still: I will precede, or rather walk in advance of your attendants; it will, at the same time, be a means of showing them the way more accurately, and of protecting them if it happened any occasion might occur, though there is no probability of their needing protection."
"And by this means, then, they would be sure of entering without any difficulty, would they not?"
"Certainly, madame: for, as I should be the first to pass, I should remove any difficulties which might chance to be in the way."
"Very well; go, go, Monsieur de Manicamp, and wait at the bottom of the staircase."
"I go at once, madame."
"Stay." Manicamp paused. "When you hear the footsteps of two women descending the stairs, go out, and, without once turning round, take the road which leads to where the poor comte is lying."
"But if, by any mischance, two other persons were to descend, and I were to be mistaken?"
"You will hear one of the two clap her hands together very softly. So go."
Manicamp turned round, bowed once more, and left the room, his heart overflowing with joy. In fact, he knew very well that the presence of Madame herself would be the best balm to apply to his friend's wounds. A quarter of an hour had hardly elapsed when he heard the sound of a door being opened softly and closed with the same precaution. He listened to the light footfalls gliding down the staircase, and then heard the signal agreed upon. He immediately went out, and, faithful to his promise, bent his way, without once turning round his head, through the streets of Fontainebleau toward the doctor's dwelling.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
M. MALICORNE THE KEEPER OF THE RECORDS OF THE REALM OF FRANCE.
Two women, whose figures were completely concealed by their mantles, and whose masks effectually hid the upper portion of their faces, timidly followed Manicamp's steps. On the first floor, behind curtains of red damask, the soft light of a lamp, placed upon a low table, faintly illumined the room, at the other extremity of which, on a large bedstead supported by spiral columns, around which curtains of the same color as those which deadened the rays of the lamp had been closely drawn, lay De Guiche, his head supported by pillows, his eyes looking as if the mists of death seemed gathering there; his long black hair, scattered over the pillow, set off the young man's hollowed and pale temples to great advantage. It could be easily perceived that fever was the principal occupant of that chamber. Guiche was dreaming. His wandering mind was pursuing, through