“Possibly,” suggested I, “in an ordinary case, and where there were time and opportunity to choose; but here, and with an accident,—an accident that, if neglected or improperly treated—”
“Ah, mon Dieu!” cried she, “don't say it! Don't say there might be unhappy results; come at once and see her!” She almost dragged me along, such was her impatience, to her mistress's room; and in less than a minute I was standing beside a sofa in a half-darkened room, where a lady lay, her face closely veiled, and a large shawl so enveloping her that all guess as to her figure or probable age was impossible. A light cambric handkerchief was spread over one foot, which rested on a cushion, and this kerchief the maid hastily snatched away as I approached, saying,—“Monsieur is a doctor himself, Madame, and will cure you immediately.”
“Là!” cried she, pointing to the foot. “Là!”
And certainly I needed no more formal invitation to gaze on a foot and ankle of such faultless mould and symmetry as never, even in the Greek statues, had I seen equalled. Whether there had not been time for the process of inflammation to have set up swelling or disfigurement, or whether the injury itself had been less grave than might have been apprehended, I am not able to say; but the beautiful proportions of that rounded instep, the tapering of the foot, the hollowing of the sole, the slightly mottled marble of the flesh, the blue veins swelling through the transparent skin, were all uninjured and unmarred. Ivory itself could not have been more smoothly turned than the ankle, nor of a more dazzling whiteness. To have been permitted to kneel down and kiss that foot, I would have sworn myself her slave forever. I suppose I must have shown some signs of the rapture that was consuming me, for the maid said,—“What does the man mean? has he lost his senses?”
“I must examine the part,” said I; and, kneeling down, I proceeded with what I imagined to be a most chirurgical air, to investigate the injury. As a worshipper might have touched a holy relic, I suffered my hand to glide over that beautifully rounded instep, but all so delicately and gently that I could not say whether the thrill that touch sent through me was not the act of my own nerves. She seemed, however, to tremble; her foot moved slightly, and a gentle action of her shoulders, like a shudder, bespoke pain. It was the sort of movement that one might make in being tickled; and as great agony causes this movement occasionally, I said, “I trust I have not hurt you? I 'd not have done so for worlds.” She took her handkerchief and pressed it to her face, and I thought she sobbed; but she never said a word.
“Alors!” cried the maid. “What do you say is to be done?”
“Ice,” said I. “Iced water and perfect repose.”
“And where are we to get ice in this barbarous place?”
“Madame,” said I, “the place is less savage than you deem, and ice shall be procured. There is a monastery at Offenbach where they have ice throughout the year. I will despatch an estafette there at once.”
The lady bent forward, and whispered something in the maid's ear.