"But," said Gaston, "suppose they discover the illness to be feigned."
"Oh! as to that," replied Dumesnil, "the doctor is entirely ignorant, and will give you whatever you may ask for; perhaps they will let you walk in the garden, and that would be a great amusement."
Gaston consulted Mademoiselle de Launay, whose advice, by logic or sympathy, was the same as that of the chevalier; but she added,
"If they diet you, let me know, and I will send you chicken, sweets, and Bordeaux."
Pompadour did not reply; the hole was not yet pierced.
Gaston then played the sick man, did not eat what they sent him, relying on his neighbor's liberality. At the end of the second day M. de Launay appeared—he had been told that Gaston was eating nothing, and he found the prisoner in bed.
"Monsieur," he said, "I fear you are suffering, and have come to see you."
"You are too good, monsieur," said Gaston; "it is true that I am suffering."
"What is the matter?"
"Ma foi, monsieur, I do not know that there is any amour propre here; I am ennuyé in this place."