Since the King went to Paris she had not seen Dr. Gilbert, but the chance was offered her when they met in the vestibule of the royal apartments.
"Going to the King?" she challenged as he bowed deeply. "As physician or counsellor?" she continued with a smile betraying some irony.
"As doctor; it is my day on duty," he replied.
She beckoned him to follow her into a little sideroom.
"You see, sir," she began, "that you were wrong the other day when you assured me that the King ran no risk of murder. A woman was killed by a shot aimed at him and striking you, without injury. Who told me so? gentlemen of the escort who saw your button fly."
"I do not believe it was a crime, or, if so, one to be imputed to the people," returned Gilbert, hesitatingly.
"Who are we to attribute it to, then?" she demanded, fixing her eyes upon him.
"I have been studying the masses some time," he responded: "when in fury the mobs tear and slay like a tiger; but in cold blood, they seek no go-betweens. They want to make the blood fly with their own claws and fangs."
"As witness, Foulon and his son-in-law Berthier Savigny, accused of complicity in the Great Grain Fraud, and ripped to pieces by the crowd? and Flesselles, slain by a pistol! But the accounts of their atrocious executions may be untrue, we crowned heads are so engirt by flatterers."
"Madam, you do not believe any more than I, that Flesselles was killed by the mob. Others of higher degree were more interested in his death. As for the King, those who love their country believe he is useful to it, and these stand between him and the assassin eagerly."