If the good knight had been struck by the beauty of the chambermaid, so also was the surgeon; who, each time that he paid a visit, could not help casting sheep’s eyes at the fair face of the chambermaid, and at last passionately declared his love, which was well received, for she immediately granted his requests, but it was not easy to find means to carry out their ardent desires.
At last, after some trouble, a plan was hit on by the prudent and cunning surgeon, and it was this:
“I will tell my patient,” he said, “that his eye cannot be cured unless his other eye is bandaged, for by throwing all the work on the sound eye he prevents the other from getting well. If he will allow it to be bandaged up, we shall have a capital means of taking our pleasure, even in his chamber, without his having any suspicion of it.”
The girl, whose desires were quite as warm as those of the surgeon, was quite agreeable, provided the plan could be carried out.
“We will try,” said the surgeon.
He came at the usual hour to see the bad eye, and when he had uncovered it, pretended to be much surprised.
“What!” he cried. “I never saw such a disease; the eye is worse than it was fifteen days ago. You must have patience, monsieur.”
“In what way?” said the knight.
“Your good eye must be bandaged and concealed, so that no light can reach it, for an hour or so after I have applied this plaster and ordered another—for, no doubt, it prevents the other from healing. Ask,” he said, “this pretty girl, who sees it every day, how it is getting on.”
The girl said that it looked worse than before.