A murmur of admiring wonder welcomed the masterly skill of Ambroise Paré.
"What! is it all over?" said Gabriel. "Why, it's perfectly marvellous."
"We must agree too," rejoined Ambroise, smiling, "that the wounded man was not afraid of pain."
"Nor the operator unskilful, by the Mass!" cried a new-comer behind the soldiers, whose entrance nobody had noticed amid the general anxiety.
But at the well-known voice all stood aside respectfully.
"Monsieur le Duc de Guise!" said Paré, recognizing the features of the commander-in-chief.
"Yes, Master," rejoined the new-comer, "Monsieur de Guise; and I am amazed and delighted with your superb skill. By my patron, Saint François, I have just been watching at the hospital some downright blockheads of doctors, who have done more harm to our soldiers with their instruments, I swear, than the English with their weapons. But you extracted this iron stake, upon my word, as easily and gently as if it had been a gray hair. And I do not know you! What is your name, Master?"
"Ambroise Paré, Monseigneur," said the surgeon.
"Well, Master Ambroise Paré," said the duke, "I promise you that your fortune is made,—on one condition, however."
"And may I know what the condition is, Monseigneur?"