"How?"
"My doctor has told me a hundred times that a violent emotion is frequently sufficient either to bring on or to cure this terrible malady."
"You are right, monsieur,—you are cured, and what a blessing that is! Ah, as you say, M. le Marquis, the marquise is a good angel come down from heaven; and I begin myself to be almost alarmed lest the happiness is too great; but now I think of it, if you only want a small matter just to annoy you, thank God, I have just the very thing!"
"What is it?"
"One of your friends has very luckily had a sword-wound, very slight, to be sure; but that's all the same, it is quite enough for you, as you desire to make a small black spot in your too happy day."
"What do you mean, and of whom do you speak?"
"The Duke de Lucenay."
"Is he wounded?"
"A scratch in the arm. M. the Duke came yesterday to call on you, sir, and told me he should come again this morning, and invite himself to a cup of tea."
"Poor Lucenay! And why did you not tell me this?"