He thought of asking Deutsch, but it was the count's secret, and he ordered his coachman to drive to town.
On the way he met Camille Desmoulins, the living newspaper of the day, to whom he told the truth of the illness because it was the truth.
When he announced the news to the King, the latter inquired if the count had lost his appetite.
"Yes, Sire," was the doctor's reply.
"Then it is a bad case," sighed the monarch, shifting the subject.
When the same words were repeated to the daughter of Maria Theresa, her forehead darkened.
"Why was he not so stricken on the day of his panegyric on the tricolor flag?" she sneered. "Never mind," she went on, as if repenting the expression of her hatred before a Frenchman, "it would be very unfortunate for France if this malady makes progress. Doctor, I rely on your keeping me informed about it."
At the appointed hour, Gilbert called on his patient at his town house. His eyes caught sight of a lady's scarf on a chair.
"Glad to see you," said Mirabeau, quickly as though to divert his attention from it, "I have learnt that you kept half your promise. Deutsch has been busy answering friendly inquiries from our arrival. Are you true to the second part? have you been to the palace and seen the King and Queen?"
"Yes; and told them you were unwell. The King sincerely condoled when he heard that you had lost your appetite. The Queen was sorry and bade me keep her informed."