Dinah wished to show La Baudraye to her two visitors, and the farce was duly played out of remembering the papers left by Bianchon in his room at Anzy.  Gatien flew off at a gallop to obey his sovereign; Madame Piedefer went to do some shopping in Sancerre; and Dinah went on to Cosne alone with the two friends.  Lousteau took his seat by the lady, Bianchon riding backwards.  The two friends talked affectionately and with deep compassion for the fate of this choice nature so ill understood and in the midst of such vulgar surroundings.  Bianchon served Lousteau well by making fun of the Public Prosecutor, of Monsieur Gravier, and of Gatien; there was a tone of such genuine contempt in his remarks, that Madame de la Baudraye dared not take the part of her adorers.

“I perfectly understand the position you have maintained,” said the doctor as they crossed the Loire.  “You were inaccessible excepting to that brain-love which often leads to heart-love; and not one of those men, it is very certain, is capable of disguising what, at an early stage of life, is disgusting to the senses in the eyes of a refined woman.  To you, now, love is indispensable.”

“Indispensable!” cried Dinah, looking curiously at the doctor.  “Do you mean that you prescribe love to me?”

“If you go on living as you live now, in three years you will be hideous,” replied Bianchon in a dictatorial tone.

“Monsieur!” said Madame de la Baudraye, almost frightened.

“Forgive my friend,” said Lousteau, half jestingly.  “He is always the medical man, and to him love is merely a question of hygiene.  But he is quite disinterested—­it is for your sake only that he speaks—­as is evident, since he is starting in an hour—­”

At Cosne a little crowd gathered round the old repainted chaise, with the arms on the panels granted by Louis XIV. to the new La Baudraye.  Gules, a pair of scales or; on a chief azure (color on color) three cross-crosslets argent.  For supporters two greyhounds argent, collared azure, chained or.  The ironical motto, Deo sic patet fides et hominibus, had been inflicted on the converted Calvinist by Hozier the satirical.

“Let us get out; they will come and find us,” said the Baroness, desiring her coachman to keep watch.

Dinah took Bianchon’s arm, and the doctor set off by the banks of the Loire at so rapid a pace that the journalist had to linger behind.  The physician had explained by a single wink that he meant to do Lousteau a good turn.

“You have been attracted by Etienne,” said Bianchon to Dinah; “he has appealed strongly to your imagination; last night we were talking about you.—­He loves you.  But he is frivolous, and difficult to hold; his poverty compels him to live in Paris, while everything condemns you to live at Sancerre.—­Take a lofty view of life.  Make Lousteau your friend; do not ask too much of him; he will come three times a year to spend a few days with you, and you will owe to him your beauty, happiness, and fortune.  Monsieur de la Baudraye may live to be a hundred; but he might die in a few days if he should leave off the flannel winding-sheet in which he swathes himself.  So run no risks, be prudent both of you.—­Say not a work—­I have read your heart.”