“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 you can understand—you particularly, Monsieur de Manicamp, who seem capable of divining so much.”
“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 the means of showing them the way more accurately, and of protecting them, if occasion arises, though there is no probability of their needing protection.”