“Very well, indeed. He had me attended to by M. Fouquet’s own doctor. But just imagine, at the end of a week I could not breathe any longer.”
“What do you mean?”
“The room was too small; I had absorbed every atom of air.”
“Indeed?”
“I was told so, at least; and so I was removed into another apartment.”
“Where you were able to breathe, I hope and trust?”
“Yes, more freely; but no exercise—nothing to do. The doctor pretended that I was not to stir; I, on the contrary, felt that I was stronger than ever; that was the cause of a very serious accident.”
“What accident?”
“Fancy, my dear fellow, that I revolted against the directions of that ass of a doctor, and I resolved to go out, whether it suited him or not: and, consequently, I told the valet who waited on me to bring me my clothes.”
“You were quite naked, then?”