IN WHICH WE FIND DR. LOUIS.
Perhaps our readers, remembering in what a position we left M. de
Charny, will not dislike to return with us to that little ante-chamber
at Versailles into which this brave seaman, who feared neither men nor
elements, had fled, lest he should show his weakness to the queen. Once
arrived there, he felt it impossible to go further; he stretched out
his arms, and was only saved from falling to the ground by the aid of
those around. He then fainted, and was totally ignorant that the queen
had seen him, and would have run to his assistance had Andrée not
prevented her, more even from a feeling of jealousy than from regard
for appearances. Immediately after the king entered, and seeing a man
lying supported by two guards, who, unaccustomed to see men faint,
scarcely knew what to do, advanced, saying, “Some one is ill here.”
At his voice the men started and let their burden fall.
“Oh!” cried the king, “it is M. de Charny. Place him on this couch,
gentlemen.” Then they brought him restoratives, and sent for a doctor.
The king waited to hear the result. The doctor’s first care was to open
the waistcoat and shirt of the young man to give him air, and then he
saw the wound.
“A wound!” cried the king.
“Yes,” said M. de Charny, faintly, “an old wound, which has reopened;”
and he pressed the hand of the doctor to make him understand.
But this was not a court doctor, who understands everything; so,
willing to show his knowledge, “Old, sir! this wound is not twenty-four
hours old.”
Charny raised himself at this, and said, “Do you teach me, sir, when I
received my wound?” Then, turning round, he cried, “The king!” and
hastened to button his waistcoat.
“Yes, M. de Charny, who fortunately arrived in time to procure you
assistance.”
“A mere scratch, sire,” stammered Charny, “an old wound.”
“Old or new,” replied Louis, “it has shown me the blood of a brave
man.”
“Whom a couple of hours in bed will quite restore,” continued Charny,
trying to rise; but his strength failed him, his head swam, and he sank
back again.
“He is very ill,” said the king.
“Yes, sire,” said the doctor, with importance, “but I can cure him.”
The king understood well that M. de Charny wished to hide some secret
from him, and determined to respect it. “I do not wish,” said he, “that
M. de Charny should run the risk of being moved; we will take care of
him here. Let M. de Suffren be called, this gentleman recompensed, and
my own physician, Dr. Louis, be sent for.”
While one officer went to execute these orders, two others carried
Charny into a room at the end of the gallery. Dr. Louis and M. de
Suffren soon arrived. The latter understood nothing of his nephew’s
illness. “It is strange,” said he; “do you know, doctor, I never knew
my nephew ill before.”
“That proves nothing,” replied the doctor.
“The air of Versailles must be bad for him.”
“It is his wound,” said one of the officers.
“His wound!” cried M. de Suffren; “he never was wounded in his life.”
“Oh, excuse me,” said the officer, opening the shirt, covered with
blood, “but I thought——”
“Well,” said the doctor, who began to see the state of the case, “do
not let us lose time disputing over the cause, but see what can be done
to cure him.”
“Is it dangerous, doctor?” asked M. de Suffren, with anxiety.
“Not at all,” replied he.
M. de Suffren took his leave, and left Charny with the doctor. Fever
commenced, and before long he was delirious. Three hours after the
doctor called a servant, and told him to take Charny in his arms, who
uttered doleful cries. “Roll the sheet over his head,” said the doctor.
“But,” said the man, “he struggles so much that I must ask assistance
from one of the guards.”
“Are you afraid of a sick man, sir? If he is too heavy for you, you are
not strong enough for me. I must send you back to Auvergne.” This
threat had its effect. Charny, crying, fighting, and gesticulating, was
carried by the man through the guards.
Some of the officers questioned the doctor.
“Oh! gentlemen,” said he, “this gallery is too far off for me; I must
have him in my own rooms.”
“But I assure you, doctor, we would all have looked after him here. We
all love M. de Suffren.”
“Oh yes, I know your sort of care! The sick man is thirsty, and you
give him something to drink, and kill him.”
“Now there remains but one danger,” said the doctor to himself, as he
followed Charny, “that the king should want to visit him, and if he
hear him—— Diable! I must speak to the queen.” The good doctor,
therefore, having bathed the head and face of his patient with cold
water, and seen him safe in bed, went out and locked the door on him,
leaving his servant to look after him. He went towards the queen’s
apartments, and met Madame de Misery, who had just been despatched to
ask after the patient.
“Come with me,” he said.
“But, doctor, the queen waits for intelligence.”
“I am going to her.”
“The queen wishes——”
“The queen shall know all she wishes. I will take care of that.”