A doctor has in some sort a priesthood of his own.  Admitted at all hours to the most secret intimacy of families, he knows, guesses, and is able to effect much.  Like the priest, in short, he has the ear of the sick and the dying.  Now, when he who cares for the health of the body, and he who takes charge of the health of the soul, understands each other, and render mutual aid for the advancement of a common interest, there is nothing (with certain exceptions), which they may not extract from the weakness and fears of a sick man at the last gasp—­not for themselves (the laws forbid it)—­but for third parties belonging more or less to the very convenient class of men of straw.  Doctor Baleinier was therefore one of the most active and valuable assistant members of the Paris Jesuits.

When he entered the room, he hastened to kiss the princess’s hand with the most finished gallantry.

“Always punctual, my dear M. Baleinier.”

“Always eager and happy to attend to your highness’s orders.”  Then turning towards the marquis, whose hand he pressed cordially, he added:  “Here we have you then at last.  Do you know, that three months’ absence appears very long to your friends?”

“The time is as long to the absent as to those who remain, my dear doctor.  Well! here is the great day.  Mdlle. de Cardoville is coming.”

“I am not quite easy,” said the princess; “suppose she had any suspicion?”

“That’s impossible,” said M. Baleinier; “we are the best friends in the world.  You know, that Mdlle.  Adrienne has always had great confidence in me.  The day before yesterday, we laughed a good deal, and as I made some observations to her, as usual, on her eccentric mode of life, and on the singular state of excitement in which I sometimes found her—­”

“M.  Baleinier never fails to insist on these circumstances, in appearance so insignificant,” said Madame de Saint-Dizier to the marquis with a meaning look.

“They are indeed very essential,” replied the other.

“Mdlle.  Adrienne answered my observations,” resumed the doctor, “by laughing at me in the gayest and most witty manner; for I must confess, that this young lady has one of the aptest and most accomplished minds I know.”

“Doctor, doctor!” said Madame de Saint-Dizier, “no weakness!”

Instead of answering immediately, M. Baleinier drew his gold snuff-box from his waistcoat pocket, opened it, and took slowly a pinch of snuff, looking all the time at the princess with so significant an air, that she appeared quite reassured.  “Weakness, madame?” observed he at last, brushing some grains of snuff from his shirt-front with his plump white hand; “did I not have the honor of volunteering to extricate you from this embarrassment?”

“And you are the only person in the world that could render us this important service,” said D’Aigrigny.

“Your highness sees, therefore,” resumed the doctor, “that I am not likely to show any weakness.  I perfectly understand the responsibility of what I undertake; but such immense interests, you told me, were at stake—­”