“On the contrary, you will stay here another fortnight,” said the doctor, authoritatively.
“Prescribe some of your nice tonics for me, doctor,” said Josephine, coaxingly.
“No! I can’t do that; you are in the hands of another practitioner.”
“What does that matter? You were at Paris.”
“It is not the etiquette in our profession to interfere with another man’s patients.”
“Oh, dear! I am so sorry,” began Josephine.
“I see nothing here that my good friend Mivart is not competent to deal with,” said the doctor, coldly.
Then followed some general conversation, at the end of which the doctor once more laid his commands on them to stay another fortnight where they were, and bade them good-by.
He was no sooner gone than Rose went to the door of the kitchen, and called out, “Madame Jouvenel! Madame Jouvenel! you may come into the garden again.”
The doctor drove away; but, instead of going straight to Beaurepaire, he ordered the driver to return to the town. He then walked to Mivart’s house.