[*] Balzac’s description of plica polonica does not agree with that
    given in English medical dictionaries and cyclopedias.  But as the
    book was written at Wierschovnia, Poland, in 1847, when he was
    attended by a celebrated Polish physician, and as, moreover, he
    was always so scrupulously accurate in his descriptions, it is
    fair to suppose that he knew of some form of the disease other
    than that given in the books.  His account probably applies to the
    period before it takes the visible form described in the books.

“About conveying her?”

“Bah! she’ll seem to be dying, but she won’t die.  There’s life enough in her to last a hundred years, when the disease is out of her system.  Come, Jacques, drive on! quick,—­rue de Monsieur! quick!” he said to his man.

Godefroid was left on the boulevard gazing stupidly after the cabriolet.

“Who is that queer man in a bearskin?” asked Madame Vauthier, whom nothing escaped; “is it true, what the man in the cabriolet told me, that he is one of the greatest doctors in Paris?”

“What is that to you?”

“Oh! nothing at all,” she replied, making a face.

“You made a great mistake in not putting yourself on my side,” said Godefroid, returning slowly to the house; “you would have made more out of me than you will ever get from Barbet and Metivier; from whom, mark my words, you’ll get nothing.”

“I am not for them particularly,” said Madame Vauthier, shrugging her shoulders; “Monsieur Barbet is my proprietor, that’s all!”

It required two days’ persuasion to induce Monsieur Bernard to separate from his daughter and take her to Chaillot.  Godefroid and the old man made the trip walking on each side of the litter, canopied with blue and white striped linen, in which was the dear patient, partly bound to a mattress, so much did her father dread the possible convulsions of a nervous attack.  They started at three o’clock and reached their destination at five just as evening was coming on.  Godefroid paid the sum demanded for three months’ board in advance, being careful to obtain a receipt for the money.  When he went back to pay the bearers of the litter, he was followed by Monsieur Bernard, who took from beneath the mattress a bulky package carefully sealed up, and gave it to Godefroid.

“One of these men will fetch you a cab,” said the old man; “for you cannot carry these four volumes under your arm.  That is my book; give it to your reader; he may keep it the whole of the coming week.  I shall stay at least that time in this quarter; for I cannot leave my daughter in such total abandonment.  I trust my grandson; he can take care of our rooms; especially if you keep an eye on him.  If I were what I once was I would ask you the name of my critic, the former magistrate you spoke of; there were but few of them whom I did not know.”

“Oh, there’s no mystery about it!” said Godefroid, interrupting Monsieur Bernard.  “Now that you have shown this entire confidence in trusting me with your book, I will tell you that your censor is the former president, Lecamus de Tresnes.”