“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.”