"Very well, sir," answered the baron haughtily. "He has delivered his master's message--do you deliver mine. I am busy, very busy--and cannot see the prince till four o'clock. That is the answer." The servant knew his master, and left the room immediately. "These insufferable nobles!" exclaimed the baron; "they imagine that mankind was invented for their pleasure and amusement--to be their footballs. Does this man think we have nothing better to do than to humour his fancies, and attend to every ailment that waits upon his gross appetite. He makes a god of his belly, is punished for his idolatry, and then whines by the hour to his doctor." "Is he not ill, then?" I enquired. "He may be--but that is no reason why my students are to be neglected for a prince. He must come in his turn, with all the rest. I allow no distinctions in my practice. Suffering is suffering--the pain of the peasant is as acute as the smart of the king. Proceed with the drawings, Mr Walpole." In less than a quarter of an hour, there was a fresh disturbance. The servant knocked softly at the door, and entered timidly. "Here is a dirty woman at the gate, sir," began the man. "I have told her that you were engaged and couldn't speak to her, but she would not move until I had brought you this letter. She is a dirty creature, sir." "Well, you have said that once before," answered the baron taking the note--if a soiled strip of paper, with blots, erasures, and illegible characters may deserve that title. The baron endeavoured to read it; but failing, requested Francois to show the poor woman up. She appeared, and justified the repetition of Francois. She was indeed very far from being clean; she had scarcely a rag upon her back--and seemed, in every way, much distressed. "Now, my good woman," said the professor very tenderly, "tell me what it is you want, as quickly as you are able to do it, and I will help you if it be in my power." The woman, bursting into tears, proceeded to say that "she resided in the Quartier St Jacques--that her husband was a water-carrier." "A what?" asked the professor quickly, as if he had missed the word. "A water-carrier, sir." "Go on." That he had come from Auvergne--had fallen into a dreadful state of disease through want of nourishment and fuel during the winter--that he was now lying without a crust of bread or a particle of fire--and that she was sure he must die, leaving her and her children to be thrown into the world. She filled up her short narrative with many harrowing details, and finished by imploring the surgeon to come and save her husband if he could. "We will pay you, sir, all that we are able--if he gets to work again: and if he shouldn't, God, I am sure, will not listen to your prayers the less because you have helped the unfortunate and the poor."