Mademoiselle consented to part with me when she had heard all, suddenly observing, however, as she looked at Darpent:  ’But, Monsieur, are you not the great Frondeur with ideas of your own?  Did not this same d’Aubepine beat you soundly?  Hein!  How is it that you are taking him in—–?  Your enemy, is he not?’

‘So please your Royal Highness, we know no enemies in wounded men,’ replied Darpent, bowing.

Her attention was called off, and she said no more, as Clement and I hastened away as fast as we could through a by-street to avoid the march of the troops of Conde, who were choking the Rue St. Antoine, going, however, in good order.  He told me on the way that M. d’Aubepine had shown great courage and calmness after the first shock, and after a few questions had hung on his arm through the streets, not uttering a word, though he felt her trembling all over, and she had instantly assumed the whole care of her husband with all the instinct of affection.  But as he and his mother felt certain that amputation would be necessary, he had come to fetch me to take care of her.

Fortunately for us, we had not to cross the Rue St. Antoine to enter the Maison Verdon, but Clement opened a small door into the court with a private key, presently knocking at a door and leading me in.  Armand d’Aubepine had been the first patient admitted, so his was the chief guest-chamber—­a vast room, at the other end of which was a great bed, beside which stood my poor Cecile, seeing nothing but her husband, looking up for a moment between hope and terror in case it should be the surgeon, but scarcely taking in that it was I till I put my arms round her and kissed her; and then she put her finger to her lips, cherishing a hope that because the poor sufferer had closed his eyes and lay still in exhaustion, he might sleep. there he lay, all tinge of colour gone from his countenance, and his damp, dark hair lying about his face, and with my arm round her waist stood watching till he opened his eyes with a start and moan of pain, and cried, as his eye fell on me:  ‘Madame!  Ah!  Is Bellaise safe?’ Then, recollecting himself:  ’Ah no!  I forgot!  But is he safe—­the Prince?’

I told him that the Prince and his army were saved, feeling infinitely touched that his first word should have been of my Philippe, whom he seemed to have forgotten; but indeed it was not so.  His next cry was:  ’Oh!  Madame, Madame, would that this were Freiburg!  Would that I could die as Philippe die!  Oh! help me!’

Cecile threw herself forward, exclaiming, in broken words, that he must not say so; he would not die.

‘You, too,’ he said, ’you, too—­the best wife in the world—­whom I have misused—–­ Ah! that I could begin all over again!’

‘You will—­you will, my most dear!’ she cried.  ’Oh! the wound will cure.’

And, strange mixture that he was, he moaned that he should only be a poor maimed wretch.