THE MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN (Complete Edition: Volumes 1-5). Alexandre Dumas
the girl this morning, Chon?"
"She is not safe to go near."
"Oh, here comes the chocolate! Good-morning, Chocolate," said the favorite's brother, taking the platter and putting it on a small table, at which he seated himself. "Come and tuck it in, Chon! those who are too proud won't get any, that's all."
"You are a nice pair," said Jeanne, "gobbling up the bread and butter instead of wondering what worries me."
"Out of cash, I suppose?" said Chon.
"Pooh, the king will run out before I do."
"Then lend me a thousand—I can do with it," said the man.
"You will get a thousand fillips on the nose sooner than a thousand Louis."
"Is the king going to keep that abominable Choiseul?" questioned Chon.
"That is no novelty—you know that they are sticks-in-the-mud."
"Has the old boy fallen in love with the dauphiness?"
"You are getting warm; but look at the glutton, ready to burst with swilling chocolate and will not lift a finger to help me out of my quandary."
"You never mean to say the king has another fancy?" cried Chon, clasping her hands, and turning pale.
"If I did not say so your brother would, for he will either choke with the chocolate or get it out."
Thus adjured, Jean managed to gasp the name:
"Andrea of Taverney!"
"The baron's daughter—oh, mercy!" groaned Chon.
"I do not know what keeps me from tearing his eyes out, the lazybones, to go puffing them up with sleep when our fortunes stagger."
"With want of sleep you mean," returned Jean. "I am sleepy, as I am hungry, for the same reason—I have been running about the streets all night."
"Just like you."
"And all the morning."
"You might have run to some purpose, and found out where that intriguing jade is housed."
"The very thing—I questioned the driver of the carriage lent to them, and he took them to Coq Heron street. They are living in a little house at the back, next door to Armenonville House."
"Jean, Jean, we are good friends again," said the countess. "Gorge as you like. But we must have all the particulars about her, how she lives, who calls on her, and what she is about. Does she get any love letters—these are important to know."
"I have got us started on the right road anyway," said Jean; "suppose you do a little now."
"Well," suggested Chon, "there must be rooms to let in that street."
"Excellent idea," said the countess. "You must be off quickly to the place, Jean, and hire a flat there, where a watcher can mark down all her doings."
"No use; there are no rooms to hire there; I inquired; but I can get what we want in the street at the back, overlooking their place, Plastrière Street."
"Well, quick! get a room there."
"I have done that," answered Jean.
"Admirable fellow—come, let me buss thee!" exclaimed the royal favorite.
Jean wiped his mouth, received the caress and made a ceremonious bow to show that he was duly grateful for the honor.
"I took the little suite for a young widow. Young widow, you, Chon."
"Capital! it shall be Chon who will take the lodgings and keep an eye on what goes on. But you must not lose any time. The coach," cried Dubarry, ringing the bell so loudly that she would have roused all the spellbound servants of the palace of the Sleeping Beauty.
The three knew how highly to rate Andrea, for at her first sight she had excited the king's attention; hence she was dangerous.
"This girl," said the countess while the carriage was being got ready; "cannot be a true country wench if she has not made some sweetheart follow her to Paris. Let us hunt up this chap and get her married to him offhand. Nothing would so **** off the king as rustic lovers getting wedded."
"I do not know so much about that," said Jean. "Let us be distrustful. His most Christian majesty is greedy for what is another's property."
Chon departed in the coach, with Jean's promise that he would be her first visitor in the new lodgings. She was in luck, for she had hardly more than taken possession of the rooms, and gone to look out of the window commanding a view of the rear gardens than a young lady came to sit at the summer-house window, with embroidery in her hand.
It was Andrea.
Chapter XLIII.
Two Birds With One Stone.
Chon had not been many minutes scanning the Taverney lady, when Viscount Jean, racing up the stairs four at a time like a schoolboy, appeared on the threshold of the pretended widow's room.
"Hurrah, Jean, I am placed splendidly to see what goes on, but I am unfortunate about hearing."
"You ask too much. Oh, I say, I have a bit of news, marvelous and incomparable. Those philosophic fellows say a wise man ought to be ready for anything, but I cannot be wise, for this knocked me. I give you a hundred chances to guess who I ran up against at a public fountain at the corner; he was sopping a piece of bread in the gush, and it was—our philosopher."
"Who? Gilbert?"
"The very boy, with bare head, open waistcoat, stockings ungartered, shoes without buckles, in short, just as he turned out of bed."
"Then he lives by here? Did you speak to him?"
"We recognized one another, and when I thrust out my hand, he bolted like a harrier among the crowd, so that I lost sight of him. You don't think I was going to run after him, do you?"
"Hardly, but then you have lost him."
"What a pity!" said the girl Sylvie, whom Chon had brought along as her maid.
"Yes, certainly," said Jean; "I owe him a hundred stripes with a whip, and they would not have spoilt by keeping any longer had I got a grip of his collar; but he guessed my good intentions and fled. No matter, here he is in town; and when one has the ear of the chief of police, anybody can be found."
"Shut him up when you catch him," said Sylvie, "but in a safe place."
"And make you turnkey over him," suggested Jean, winking. "She would like to take him his bread and water."
"Stop your joking, brother," said Chon; "the young fellow saw your row over the post-horses, and he is to be feared if you set him against you."
"How can he live without means?"
"Tut, he will hold horses or run errands."
"Never mind him; come to our observatory."
Brother and sister approached the window with infinity of precautions. Jean had provided himself with a telescope.
Andrea had dropped her needlework, put up her feet on a lower chair, taken a book, and was reading it with some attention, for she remained very still.
"Fie on the studious person!" sneered Chon.
"What an admirable one!" added Jean. "A perfect being—what arms, what hands! what eyes! lips that would wreck the soul of St. Anthony—oh, the divine feet—and what an ankle in that silk hose?"
"Hold your tongue! this is coming on finely," said Chon. "You are smitten with her, now. This is the drop that fills the bucket."
"It would not be a bad job if it were so, and she returned me the flame a little. It would save our