Chicot the Jester
M. BRYAN DE MONSOREAU.
It was more than joy, it was almost delirium, which agitated Bussy when he had
acquired the certainty that the lady of his dream was a reality, and had, in fact, given
him that generous hospitality of which he had preserved the vague remembrance in his
heart. He would not let the young doctor go, but, dirty as he was, made him get into the
litter with him; he feared that if he lost sight of him, he too would vanish like a dream. He
would have liked to talk all night of the unknown lady, and explain to Rémy how superior
she was even to her portrait; but Rémy, beginning his functions at once, insisted that he
should go to bed: fatigue and pain gave the same counsel and these united powers
carried the point.
The next day, on awaking, he found Rémy at his bedside. The young man could hardly
believe in his good fortune, and wanted to see Bussy again to be sure of it.
"Well!" said he, "how are you, M. le Comte?"
"Quite well, my dear Esculapius; and you, are you satisfied?"
"So satisfied, my generous protector, that I would not change places with the king. But I
now must see the wound."
"Look." And Bussy turned round for the young surgeon to take off the bandage. All
looked well; the wound was nearly closed. Bussy, quite happy, had slept well, and sleep
and happiness had aided the doctor.
"Well," said Bussy, "what do you say?"
"I dare not tell you that you are nearly well, for fear you should send me back to the Rue
Beauheillis, five hundred paces from the famous house."
"Which we will find, will we not, Rémy?"
"I should think so."
"Well, my friend, look on yourself as one of the house, and to-day, while you move your
things, let me go to the fête of the installation of the new chief huntsman."
"Ah! you want to commit follies already."
"No, I promise to be very reasonable."