That term, a favorite sign of graciousness with the duke, made the doctor, no longer a mere bonesetter, smile.

“You know,” said the duke, continuing, “that I wish you no harm.  You have twice delivered my poor Jeanne, you cured my son Maximilien of an illness, in short, you are a part of my household.  Poor Maximilien!  I will avenge him; I take upon myself to kill the man who killed him.  The whole future of the house of Herouville is now in your hands.  You alone can know if there is in that poor abortion the stuff that can breed a Herouville.  You hear me.  What think you?”

“His life on the seashore has been so chaste and so pure that nature is sounder in him than it would have been had he lived in your world.  But so delicate a body is the very humble servant of the soul.  Monseigneur Etienne must himself choose his wife; all things in him must be the work of nature and not of your will.  He will love artlessly, and will accomplish by his heart’s desire that which you wish him to do for the sake of your name.  But if you give your son a proud, ungainly woman of the world, a great lady, he will flee to his rocks.  More than that; though sudden terror would surely kill him, I believe that any sudden emotion would be equally fatal.  My advice therefore is to leave Etienne to choose for himself, at his own pleasure, the path of love.  Listen to me, monseigneur; you are a great and powerful prince, but you understand nothing of such matters.  Give me your entire confidence, your unlimited confidence, and you shall have a grandson.”

“If I obtain a grandson by any sorcery whatever, I shall have you ennobled.  Yes, difficult as it may be, I’ll make an old rascal into a man of honor; you shall be Baron de Forcalier.  Employ your magic, white or black, appeal to your witches’ sabbath or the novenas of the Church; what care I how ’tis done, provided my line male continues?”

“I know,” said Beauvouloir, “a whole chapter of sorcerers capable of destroying your hopes; they are none other than yourself, monseigneur.  I know you.  To-day you want male lineage at any price; to-morrow you will seek to have it on your own conditions; you will torment your son.”

“God preserve me from it!”

“Well, then, go away from here; go to court, where the death of the marechal and the emancipation of the king must have turned everything topsy turvy, and where you certainly have business, if only to obtain the marshal’s baton which was promised to you.  Leave Monseigneur Etienne to me.  But give me your word of honor as a gentleman to approve whatever I may do for him.”

The duke struck his hand into that of his physician as a sign of complete acceptance, and retired to his own apartments.