nter of 1821. Desplein left all his visits, and at the
risk of killing his horse, he rushed off, followed by Bianchon, to the
poor man's dwelling, and saw, himself, to his being removed to a sick
house, founded by the famous Dubois in the Faubourg Saint-Denis. Then
he went to attend the man, and when he had cured him he gave him
the necessary sum to buy a horse and a water-barrel. This Auvergnat
distinguished himself by an amusing action. One of his friends fell ill,
and he took him at once to Desplein, saying to his benefactor, "I could
not have borne to let him go to any one else!"

Rough customer as he was, Desplein grasped the water-carrier's hand, and
said, "Bring them all to me."

He got the native of Cantal into the Hotel-Dieu, where he took the
greatest care of him. Bianchon had already observed in his chief a
predilection for Auvergnats, and especially for water carriers; but as
Desplein took a sort of pride in his cures at the Hotel-Dieu, the pupil
saw nothing very strange in that.

One day, as he crossed the Place Saint-Sulpice, Bianchon caught sight of
his master going into the church at about nine in the morning. Desplein,
who at that time never went a step without his cab, was on foot, and
slipped in by the door in the Rue du Petit-Lion, as if he were stealing
into some house of ill fame. The house surgeon, naturally possessed
by curiosity, knowing his master's opinions, and being himself a rabid
follower of Cabanis (_Cabaniste en dyable_, with the _y_, which in
Rabelais seems to convey an intensity of devilry)--Bianchon stole into
the church, and was not a little astonished to see the great Desplein,
the atheist, who had no mercy on the angels--who give no work to the
lancet, and cannot suffer from fistula or gastritis--in short, this
audacious scoffer kneeling humbly, and where? In the Lady Chapel,
where he remained through the mass, giving alms for the expenses of the
service, alms for the poor, and looking as serious as though he were
superintending an operation.

"He has certainly not come here to clear up the question of the Virgin's
delivery," said Bianchon to himself, astonished beyond measure. "If I
had caught him holding one of the ropes of the canopy on Corpus Christi
day, it would be a thing to laugh at; but at this hour, alone, with no
one to see--it is surely a thing to marvel at!"

Bianchon did not wish to seem as though he were spying the head surgeon
of the Hotel-Dieu; he went away. A