Before going away, I followed the ambassador to his room to thank him as he deserved, for his kindness, and to ask him to give me a letter of introduction for Berne, where I thought of staying a fortnight. I also begged him to send Lebel to me that we might settle our accounts. He told me that Lebel should bring me a letter for M. de Muralt, the Mayor of Thun.
When I got home, feeling sad on this, the eve of my leaving a town where I had but trifling victories and heavy losses, I thanked my housekeeper for waiting for me, and to give her a good night I told her that in three days we should set out for Berne, and that my mails must be packed.
Next day, after a somewhat silent breakfast, she said,—
“You will take me with you, won’t you?”
“Certainly, if you like me well enough to want to go.”
“I would go with you to the end of the world, all the more as you are now sick and sad, and when I saw you first you were blithe and well. If I must leave you, I hope at least to see you happy first.”
The doctor came in just then to tell me that my poor Spaniard was so ill that he could not leave his bed.
“I will have him cured at Berne,” said I; “tell him that we are going to dine there the day after to-morrow.”
“I must tell you, sir, that though it’s only a seven leagues’ journey, he cannot possibly undertake it as he has lost the use of all his limbs.”
“I am sorry to hear that, doctor.”