he could see Bertha,
from whom in a feeble voice he asked forgiveness. But Bertha forbade
him to speak until La Fallotte had arrived. Then both of them consumed
the time by loving each other with their eyes, since in those of
Bertha there was nothing but compassion, and on these occasions pity
is akin to love.

La Fallotte was a hunchback, vehemently suspected of dealings in
necromancy, and of riding to nocturnal orgies on a broomstick,
according to the custom of witches. Certain persons had seen her
putting the harness on her broom in the stable, which, as everyone
knows is on the housetops. To tell the truth, she possessed certain
medical secrets, and was of such great service to ladies in certain
things, and to the nobles, that she lived in perfect tranquillity,
without giving up the ghost on a pile of fagots, but on a feather bed,
for she had made a hatful of money, although the physicians tormented
her by declaring that she sold poisons, which was certainly true, as
will be shown in the sequel. The servant and La Fallotte came on the
same ass, making such haste that they arrived at the castle before the
day had fully dawned.

The old hunchback exclaimed, as she entered the chamber, "Now then, my
children, what is the matter?"

This was her manner, which was familiar with great people, who
appeared very small to her. She put on her spectacles, and carefully
examined the wound, saying--

"This is fine blood, my dear; you have tasted it. That's all right, he
has bled externally."

Then she washed the wound with a fine sponge, under the nose of the
lady and the servant, who held their breath. To be brief, Fallotte
gave it as her medical opinion, that the youth would not die from this
blow, "although," said she, looking at his hand, "he will come to a
violent end through this night's deed."

This decree of chiromancy frightened considerably both Bertha and the
maid. Fallotte prescribed certain remedies, and promised to come again
the following night. Indeed, she tended the wound for a whole
fortnight, coming secretly at night-time. The people about the castle
were told by the servants that their young lady, Sylvia de Rohan, was
in danger of death, through a swelling of the stomach, which must
remain a mystery for the honour of Madame, who was her cousin. Each
one was satisfied with this story, of which his mouth was so full that
he told it to his fellows.

The good people believe that it was the malady which w