ANDRÉE.
The doctor remained thoughtful, then said to himself,—“There are other
difficulties here besides those I can contend with by science.” He
bathed again the temples of his patient, who for the time began to grow
calmer.
All at once the doctor heard the rustling of a dress outside. “Can it
be the queen returned?” thought he; and opening the door softly, he saw
before him the motionless figure of a woman, looking like a statue of
despair. It was almost dark; he advanced suddenly along the corridor to
the place where the figure was standing. On seeing him, she uttered a
cry.
“Who is there?” asked Doctor Louis.
“I, doctor!” replied a sweet and sorrowful voice—a voice that he knew
but could not immediately recognize. “I, Andrée de Taverney,” continued
she.
“Oh, mon Dieu! what is the matter?” cried the doctor; “is she ill?”
“She! who?”
The doctor felt that he had committed an imprudence.
“Excuse me, but I saw a lady going away just now, perhaps it was you.”
“Oh, yes, there has been a lady here before me, has there not?” asked
Andrée, in a tone of emotion.
“My dear child,” replied the doctor, “of whom do you speak? what do you
want to know?”
“Doctor,” answered Andrée, in a sorrowful voice, “you always speak the
truth, do not deceive me now; I am sure there was a woman here before
me.”
“Doubtless. Why should I deceive you? Madame de Misery was here.”
“It was Madame de Misery who came?”
“Certainly; what makes you doubt? What inexplicable beings women are.”
“Dear doctor.”
“Well, but to the point. Is she worse?”
“Who?”
“Pardieu, the queen.”
“The queen!”
“Yes, the queen, for whom Madame de Misery came to fetch me, and who
was troubled with her palpitations. If you come from her, tell me, and
we will go back together.”
“No, doctor, I do not come from the queen, and was even ignorant that
she was suffering. But pardon me, doctor, I scarcely know what I an
saying.” In fact, she seemed on the point of fainting.
The doctor supported her. She rallied by a strong effort. “Doctor,” she
said, “you know I am nervous in the dark; I lost my way in these
intricate passages, and have grown frightened and foolish.”
“And why the devil should you be wandering about these dark passages,
since you came for nothing?”
“I did not say I came for nothing, only that no one sent me.”
“Well, if you have anything to say to me, come away from here, for I am
tired of standing.”
“Oh, I shall not be ten minutes; can any one hear us?”
“No one.”
“Not even your patient in there?”
“Oh, no fear of his hearing anything.”
Andrée clasped her hands. “Oh, mon Dieu!” she cried, “he is, then, very
ill?”
“Indeed he is not well. But tell me quickly what brings you here, for I
cannot wait.”
“Well, doctor, we have spoken of it; I came to ask after him.”
Doctor Louis received this confession with a solemn silence, which
Andrée took for a reproach.
“You may excuse this step, doctor,” she said, “as he was wounded in a
duel with my brother.”
“Your brother! I was ignorant of that.”
“But now that you know it, you understand why I inquire after him.”
“Oh, certainly, my child,” said the good doctor, enchanted to find an
excuse for being indulgent; “I could not know this.”
“A duel between two gentlemen is a thing of everyday occurrence,
doctor.”
“Certainly; the only thing that could make it of importance would be
that they have fought about a lady!”
“About a lady!”
“About yourself, for example.”
Andrée sighed.
“Oh, doctor! they did not fight about me.”
“Then,” said the doctor, “is it your brother that has sent you for news
of M. de Charny?”
“Oh, yes, my brother, doctor.”
Dr. Louis looked at her scrutinizingly.
“I will find out the truth,” thought he. Then he said, “Well, I will
tell you the truth, that your brother may make his arrangements
accordingly; you understand.”
“No, doctor.”
“Why, a duel is never a very agreeable thing to the king, and if it
makes a scandal, he often banishes or imprisons the actors; but when
death ensues, he is always inflexible. Therefore counsel your brother
to hide for a time.”
“Then,” cried Andrée, “M. de Charny is—dangerously ill?”
“My dear young lady, if he is not out of danger by this time to-morrow,
if before that time I cannot quell the fever that devours him, M. de
Charny is a dead man.”
Andrée bit her lips till the blood came, and clenched her hands till
the nails stuck into the flesh, to stifle the cry that was ready to
burst from her. Having conquered herself, she said, “My brother will
not fly; he wounded M. de Charny in fair fight, and if he has killed
him, he will take his chance.”
The doctor was deceived. She did not come on her own account, he
thought.
“How does the queen take it?” he asked.
“The queen? I know not. What is it to her?”
“But she likes your brother.”
“Well, he is safe; and perhaps she will defend him if he is accused.”
“Then, mademoiselle, you have learned what you wished. Let your brother
fly, or not, as he pleases; that is your affair. Mine is to do the best
to-night for the wounded man; without which, death will infallibly
carry him off. Adieu.”
Andrée fled back to her room, locked herself in, and falling on her
knees by the side of her bed, “My God!” cried she, with a torrent of
burning tears, “you will not leave this young man to die who has done
no wrong, and who is so loved in this world. Oh! save him, that I may
see a God of mercy, and not of vengeance.” Her strength gave way, and
she fell senseless on the floor. When her senses returned to her, her
first muttered words were, “I love him! oh, I love him!”