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."

"Certainly," replied Monsieur de Camps; "but I really don't think a
physician is necessary. Still, if it reassures you--"

At this moment Monsieur de l'Estorade reappeared. He had almost
recovered his usual expression of face, but he exhaled a strong odor of
_melisse des Carmes_, which indicated that he had felt the need of that
tonic. Monsieur de Camps played his part admirably, and as for Madame
de l'Estorade it did not cost her much trouble to simulate maternal
anxiety.

"My dear," she said to her husband, when Monsieur de Camps had delivered
himself of his medical opinion, "as you return from Monsieur de
Rastignac's, please call on Doctor Bianchon and ask him to come here."

"Pooh!" said Monsieur de l'Estorade, shrugging his shoulders, "the idea
of disturbing a busy man like him for what you yourself said was a mere
nothing!"

"If you won't go, I shall send Lucas; Monsieur de Camps' opinion has
completely upset me."

"If it pleases you to be ridiculous," said the peer of France, crossly,
"I have no means of preventing it; but I beg you to remark one thing: if
people disturb physicians for mere nonsense, they often can't get them
when they are really wanted."

"Then you won't go for the doctor?"

"Not I," replied Monsieur de l'Estorade; "and if I had the honor of
being anything in my own house, I should forbid you to send anybody in
my place."

"My dear, you are the master here, and since you put so much feeling
into your refusal, let us say no more; I will bear my anxiety as best I
can."

"Come, de Camps," said Monsieur de l'Estorade; "for if this goes on, I
shall be sent to order that child's funeral."

"But, my dear husband," said the countess, taking his hand, "you must be
ill, to say such dreadful things in that cool way. Where is your usual
patience with my little maternal worries, or your exquisite politeness
for every one, your wife included?"

"But," said Monsieur de l'Estorade, getting more excited instead of
calmer, under this form of studied though friendly reproach, "your
maternal feelings are turning into monomania, and you make life
intolerable to every one but your children. The devil