"Of a Catholic surgeon, perhaps," said the queen, with an expression
which La Mole understood and which made him shudder. "Do you not know,"
continued the queen in a voice and with a smile of incomparable
sweetness, "that we daughters of France are trained to know the
qualities of herbs and to make balsams? for our duty as women and as
queens has always been to soften pain. Therefore we are equal to the
best surgeons in the world; so our flatterers say! Has not my
reputation in this regard come to your ears? Come, Gillonne, let us to
work!"

La Mole again endeavored to resist; he repeated that he would rather die
than occasion the queen labor which, though begun in pity, might end in
disgust; but this exertion completely exhausted his strength, and
falling back, he fainted a second time.

Marguerite, then seizing the poniard which he had dropped, quickly cut
the lace of his doublet; while Gillonne, with another blade, ripped open
the sleeves.

Next Gillonne, with a cloth dipped in fresh water, stanched the blood
which escaped from his shoulder and breast, and Marguerite, with a
silver needle with a round point, probed the wounds with all the
delicacy and skill that Maitre Ambroise Pare could have displayed in
such a case.

"A dangerous but not mortal wound, _acerrimum humeri vulnus, non autem
lethale_," murmured the lovely and learned lady-surgeon; "hand me the
salve, Gillonne, and get the lint ready."

Meantime Gillonne, to whom the queen had just given this new order, had
already dried and perfumed the young man's chest and arms, which were
like an antique model, as well as his shoulders, which fell gracefully
back; his neck shaded by thick, curling locks, and which seemed rather
to belong to a statue of Parian marble than the mangled frame of a dying
man.

"Poor young man!" whispered Gillonne, looking not so much at her work as
at the object of it.

"Is he not handsome?" said Marguerite, with royal frankness.

"Yes, madame; but it seems to me that instead of leaving him lying there
on the floor, we should lift him on this couch against which he is
leaning."

"Yes," said Marguerite, "you are right."

And the two women, bending over, uniting their strength, raised La Mole,
and laid him on a kind of great sofa in front of the window, which they
opened in order to give them fresh air.

This movement aroused La Mole, who drew a long sigh, and opening his
eyes, began to experience that indescribable sensati