“Well, we must come again by day.” “Yes; but then we shall be seen.” “Then we must inquire.” “We will, monseigneur.” “And we shall unravel the mystery. Be sure, Rémy, now there are two of us to work.” CHAPTER XI. M. BRYAN DE MONSOREAU. It was more than joy, it was almost delirium, which agitated Bussy when he had acquired the certainty that the lady of his dream was a reality, and had, in fact, given him that generous hospitality of which he had preserved the vague remembrance in his heart. He would not let the young doctor go, but, dirty as he was, made him get into the litter with him; he feared that if he lost sight of him, he too would vanish like a dream. He would have liked to talk all night of the unknown lady, and explain to Rémy how superior she was even to her portrait; but Rémy, beginning his functions at once, insisted that he should go to bed: fatigue and pain gave the same counsel and these united powers carried the point. The next day, on awaking, he found Rémy at his bedside. The young man could hardly believe in his good fortune, and wanted to see Bussy again to be sure of it. “Well!” said he, “how are you, M. le Comte?” “Quite well, my dear Esculapius; and you, are you satisfied?” “So satisfied, my generous protector, that I would not change places with the king. But I now must see the wound.” “Look.” And Bussy turned round for the young surgeon to take off the bandage. All looked well; the wound was nearly closed. Bussy, quite happy, had slept well, and sleep and happiness had aided the doctor. “Well,” said Bussy, “what do you say?” “I dare not tell you that you are nearly well, for fear you should send me back to the Rue Beauheillis, five hundred paces from the famous house.” “Which we will find, will we not, Rémy?” “I should think so.” “Well, my friend, look on yourself as one of the house, and to-day, while you move your things, let me go to the fête of the installation of the new chief huntsman.” “Ah! you want to commit follies already.” “No, I promise to be very reasonable.” “But you must ride.” “It is necessary.” “Have you a horse with an easy pace? “I have four to choose from.” “Well, take for to-day the one you would choose for the lady of the portrait you know.” “Know! Ah, Rémy, you have found the way to my heart forever; I feared you would prevent me from going to this chase, or rather this imitation of one, and all the ladies of the Court, and many from the City, will be admitted to it. Now, Rémy, this lady may be there. She certainly is not a simple bourgeoise--those tapestries, that bed, so much luxury as well as good taste, show a woman of quality, or, at least, a rich one. If I were to meet her there!” “All is possible,” replied Rémy, philosophically. “Except to find the house,” sighed Bussy. “Or to penetrate when we have found it.” “Oh! I have a method.” “What is it?” “Get another sword wound.” “Good; that gives me the hope that you will keep me.”