“Oh, a mere nothing!” she replied, not relaxing her attention.
“Well, my dear fellow,” said the peer, trying to take an easy tone, “just let me change my coat and I’ll be with you.”
When the countess was alone with Monsieur de Camps, she said, rather anxiously,—
“Don’t you think Monsieur de l’Estorade seems very much upset?”
“Yes; as I said just now, he does not look like himself. But the explanation he gave seems sufficient. This office life is bad for the health. I have never been as well as since I am actively engaged about my iron-works.”
“Yes, certainly,” said Madame de l’Estorade, with a heavy sigh; “he ought to have a more active life. It seems plain that there is something amiss with his liver.”
“What! because he is so yellow? He has been so ever since I have known him.”
“Oh, monsieur, I can’t be mistaken! There is something seriously the matter with him; and if you would kindly do me a service—”
“Madame, I am always at your orders.”
“When Monsieur de l’Estorade returns, speak of the injury to Rene’s finger, and tell me that little wounds like that sometimes have serious consequences if not attended to at once, and that will give me an excuse to send for Doctor Bianchon.”