as then the first gray and
ghastly moment of the dawn. Out of the coach got a court physician
whom I knew by sight. He remained a long while within the house, and
when he came out looked solemn. I asked him civilly how his patient
did, and he gave me the same answer as the valet--"Very bad." He
added, however, that the youth was young and strong, untainted by
dissipation, and if he lived twenty-four hours, would probably
survive. I was never one to give way to despair, and so I dwelt on
these hopeful words. I am not ashamed to say I stepped into the church
of the Temple, and made a prayer or two as well as I knew how for the
young man. There are, as I heard Madame Riano say some years
afterward, such things as praying rogues and swearing saints--but
though I prayed, I was not a rogue.

It may be imagined that I went not far from Gaston Cheverny's lodgings
during that twenty-four hours. I went to the Luxembourg once or twice,
where Count Saxe was lodged by the king's order, and I, of course,
next him, and asked if I was needed, but each time, Beauvais, the
valet, who was a fair writer, told me nay; and leaving word where I
was to be found, I returned to my vigil at Gaston Cheverny's door.

On the second sunrise after I had run him through, I heard the welcome
news from the physician that the wound was healing with the first
intention, that there was no fever, and that he had never known so
serious a case progress so well. I returned to the Luxembourg, left
word I was not to be called except by Count Saxe, and throwing myself
on my bed, slept ten hours without waking. I had dreams in those
hours--dreams of Mademoiselle Capello. It was on Friday night that I
had come so near giving Gaston Cheverny his death wound--and it was on
Sunday evening that I rose, after my sleep and my dreams, shaved,
bathed, dressed, and went in search of Count Saxe.

CHAPTER V

THE ELDER BROTHER

I found my master in a room which had been a favorite one of that dead
and gone and wicked Duchesse de Berry, who died of drink and
debauchery at twenty-four years of age. Poor woman! I often used to
fancy her gliding about that room, her pallid face rouged, her eyes on
fire, and she, laughing and anxious, studying the faces of the men and
women before her, and wishing she could see those behind her. She
showed good taste by preferring that apartment, for it was spacious
and airy, with three great windows looking upon the green Luxembourg