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Chicot the Jester
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“I can answer for that.”
“And who has studied much, but without any patients. Seven or eight days ago, a man having received behind the Arsenal a stab with a knife, I sewed up the wound, and cured him. This made for me some reputation in the neighborhood, to which I attribute the happiness of having been last night awoke by a pretty voice.”
“A woman’s?”
“Yes, but, rustic as I am, I knew it to be the voice of a servant. I know them well.”
“And what did you do?”
“I rose and opened my door, but scarcely had I done so, when two little hands, not very soft, but not very hard, put a bandage over my eyes, without saying anything.”
“‘Oh!’ she said, ‘come, do not try to see where you are going, be discreet, here is your recompense;’ and she placed in my hand a purse.”
“Ah! and what did you say?”
“That I was ready to follow my charming conductress. I did not know if she were charming or not, but I thought that the epithet, even if exaggerated, could do no harm.”
“And you asked no more?”
“I had often read these kinds of histories in books, and I had remarked that they always turned out well for the doctor. Therefore I followed, and I counted 498 paces.”
“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?”
