Next morning Le Due came in, and I asked if he could ride on horseback to Soleure.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, “but the doctor tells me I must begin to bathe to-morrow.”
“Very good. As soon as your horse is ready, set out and go to Madame F——, but do not let her know you come from me, or suspect that you are a mere emissary of mine. Say that you want to speak to her. If she refuses to receive you, wait outside in the street; but I fancy she will receive you, and without a witness either. Then say to her, ‘You have given me my complaint without having been asked, and I require you to give me sufficient money to get myself cured.’ Add that she made you work for two hours in the dark, and that if it had not been for the fatal present she had given to you, you would have said nothing about it; but that finding yourself in such a state (you needn’t be ashamed to shew her) she ought not to be astonished at your taking such a course. If she resists, threaten her with the law. That’s all you have to do, but don’t let my name appear. Return directly without loss of time, that I may know how you have got on.”
“That’s all very fine, sir, but if this jolly wench has me pitched out of window, I shan’t come home quite so speedily.”
“Quite so, but you needn’t be afraid; I will answer for your safety.”
“It’s a queer business you are sending me on.”
“You are the only man I would trust to do it properly.”
“I will do it all right, but I want to ask you one or two essential questions. Has the lady really got the what d’you call it?”
“She has.”
“I am sorry for her. But how am I to stick to it that she has peppered me, when I have never spoken to her?”