"Nurse, I have been walking in the dew, and have taken cold."
"You are very pale, Charlot."
"It is because I am so weak. Give me your arm, nurse, as far as my bed."
The nurse hastily came forward.
Charles leaned on her and reached his room.
"Now," said Charles, "I will put myself to bed."
"If Maître Ambroise Paré comes?"
"Tell him that I am better and that I do not need him."
"But, meanwhile, what will you take?"
"Oh! a very simple medicine," said Charles, "the whites of eggs beaten in milk. By the way, nurse," he continued, "my poor Actéon is dead. To-morrow morning he must be buried in a corner of the garden of the Louvre. He was one of my best friends. I will have a tomb made for him—if I have time."