“Why, monseigneur, as your absence made my position a sinecure, I thought I would try to make some little use of my time; so I took some books and a sword to a little room which I hired at the corner of the Rue St. Antoine, from whence I could see the house that you know.” “Very good.” “But as I feared, if I were constantly watching, to pass for a spy, I thought it better to fall in love.” “In love?” “Oh yes, desperately with Gertrude; she is a fine girl, only two inches taller than myself, and who recounts, capitally.” “Recounts?” “Yes; through her I know all that passes with her mistress. I thought you might not dislike to have communications with the house.” “Rémy, you are a good genius, whom chance, or rather Providence, has placed in my way. Then you are received in the house?” “Last night I made my entrance on the points of my toes, by the door you know.” “And how did you manage it?” “Quite naturally. The day after you left, I waited at my door till the lady of my thoughts came out to buy provisions, which she does every morning. She recognized me, uttered a cry, and ran away.” “Then?” “Then I ran after her, but could hardly catch her, for she runs fast; but still, petticoats are always a little in the way. ‘Mon Dieu!’ cried she. ‘Holy Virgin!’ said I. ‘The doctor!’ ‘The charming housekeeper.’ She smiled, but said, ‘You are mistaken, monsieur, I do not know you.’ ‘But I know you,’ I replied, ‘and for the last three days I have lived but for you, and I adore you so much, that I no longer live in the Rue Beautreillis, but at the corner of this street, and I changed my lodging only to see you pass in and out.’” “So that now you are----” “As happy as a lover can be--with Gertrude.” “Does she suspect you come from me?” “Oh no, how should the poor doctor know a great lord like M. de Bussy. No, I said, ‘And how is your young master?’ ‘What young master?’ ‘The one I cured.’ ‘He is not my master.’ ‘Oh! I thought, as he was in your mistress’s bed----’ ‘Oh! no, poor young man! we have only seen him once since.’ ‘Do you know his name?’ ‘Oh! yes; he is the Seigneur de Bussy.’ ‘What! the brave Bussy?’ ‘Yes himself.’ ‘And your mistress?’ ‘Oh! she is married!’ ‘Yes, but still she may think sometimes of a handsome young man when she has seen him lying wounded in her bed.’ ‘Oh, to be frank, I do not say she does not think of him; we talk of him very often.’ ‘What do you say about him?’ I asked. ‘I recount all I hear about his prowess, and I have even taught her a little song about him, which she sings constantly.’” Bussy pressed the young man’s hand; he felt supremely happy. CHAPTER XXV. THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER.