"It must have been a dream," thought he again: "how should a portrait come down from the wall and talk to a doctor with a bandage on his eyes? I am a fool; and yet when I remember she was so charming," and he began to describe her beauties, till he cried out, "It is impossible it should have been a dream; and yet I found myself in the street, and a monk kneeling by me. Doctor," said he, "shall I have to keep the house a fortnight again for this scratch, as I did for the last?"
Bussy jumped out of bed, and walked quickly round his room.
"That will do," said the doctor, "provided that you do not go on horseback, or walk ten miles the first day."
"Capital! you are a doctor; however, I have seen another to-night. Yes, I saw him, and if ever I meet him, I should know him."
"I advise you not to seek for him, monsieur; one has always a little fever after a sword wound; you should know that, who have had a dozen."
"Ah, mon Dieu!" cried Bussy, struck with a new idea, "did my dream begin outside the door instead of inside? Was there no more a staircase and a passage, than there was a bed with white and gold damask, and a portrait? Perhaps those wretches, thinking me dead, carried me to the Temple, to divert suspicion, should any one have seen them hiding. Certainly, it must be so, and I have dreamed the rest. Mon Dieu! if they have procured for me this dream which torments me so, I swear to make an end of them all."
"My dear seigneur," said the doctor, "if you wish to get well, you must not agitate yourself thus."
"Except St. Luc," continued Bussy, without attending; "he acted as a friend, and my first visit shall be to him."
"If you wish it; but, I assure you, it is not going out and seeing people which will make me ill, but staying quietly at home."
"Well, it is possible; you are always a singular patient; act as you please, only I recommend you not to get another wound before this one is healed."
Bussy promised to do his best to avoid it, and, after dressing, called for his litter to take him to the Hôtel Montmorency.
HOW MADAME DE ST. LUC HAD PASSED THE NIGHT.
Louis de Clermont, commonly called Bussy d'Amboise, was a perfect gentleman, and a very handsome man. Kings and princes had sought for his friendship; queens and princesses had lavished on him their sweetest smiles. He had succeeded La Mole in the affections of Queen Marguerite, who had committed for him so many follies, that even her husband, insensible so long, was moved at them; and the Duke François would never have pardoned him, had it not gained over Bussy to his interests, and once again he sacrificed all to his ambition. But in the midst of all his successes of war, ambition, and intrigue, he had remained insensible; and he who had never known fear, had never either known love.
