"Silence—silence!" said Martial.
The comte and the doctor looked at La Louve with surprise.
"This house in the isle has a bad reputation hereabouts, and I am not astonished at it," observed the doctor, in a low tone, to M. de Saint-Remy.
"You have, then, been the victim of some violence?" observed the comte to Martial. "How did you come by those wounds?"
"They are nothing—nothing, sir. I had a quarrel—a struggle ensued, and I was wounded. But this young peasant girl cannot remain in this house," he added, with a gloomy air. "I cannot remain here myself—nor my wife, nor my brother, nor my sister, whom you see. We are going to leave the isle, never to return to it."
"Oh, how nice!" exclaimed the two children.
"Then what are we to do?" said the doctor, looking at Fleur-de-Marie. "It is impossible to think of conveying the subject to Paris in her present state of prostration. But then my house is quite close at hand, my gardener's wife and her daughter are capital nurses; and since this asphyxia by submersion interests you, my dear Saint-Remy, why, you can watch over the necessary attentions, and I will come and see her every day."
"And you assume the harsh and pitiless man," exclaimed the comte, "when, as your proposal proves, you have one of the noblest hearts in the world!"
"If the subject sinks under it, as is possible, there will be an opportunity for a most interesting dissection, which will allow me to confirm once again Goodwin's assertions."
"How horridly you talk!" cried the comte.