t
were covered with splashes of mud.

"Oh, nothing," replied the young girl, in a broken voice; "it was
only Titania, who wanted to throw me into the river. Do you know where
Rousselet is? They say it is necessary to bleed him; and he is the only
one who knows how to do it."

"Whom do you mean, child? Is my husband wounded?" asked Clemence,
turning pale.

"No, not Christian; it is a gentleman I do not know; only for him I
should have been drowned. Mon Dieu! can not Rousselet be found?"

Aline left the room in great agitation. They all went over to the
windows that opened out into the court, whence the sound of voices
seemed to arise, and where they could hear the master's voice thundering
out his commands. Several servants had gone to his assistance: one of
them held Titania by the bridle; she was covered with foam and mud, and
was trembling, with distended nostrils, like a beast that knows it has
just committed a wicked action. A young man was seated upon a stone
bench, wiping away blood which streamed from his forehead. It was
Monsieur de Gerfaut.

At this sight Clemence supported herself against the framework of the
window, and Marillac hurriedly left the room.

Pere Rousselet, who had at last been found in the kitchen, advanced
majestically, eating an enormous slice of bread and butter.

"Good heavens! have you arrived at last?" exclaimed Bergenheim. "Here
is a gentleman this crazy mare has thrown against a tree, and who has
received a violent blow on the head. Do you not think it would be the
proper thing to bleed him?"

"A slight phlebotomy might be very advantageous in stopping the
extravasation of blood in the frontal region," replied the peasant,
calling to his aid all the technical terms he had learned when he was a
hospital nurse.

"Are you sure you can do this bleeding well?"

"I'll take the liberty of saying to Monsieur le Baron that I
phlebotomized Perdreau last week and Mascareau only a month ago, without
any complaint from them."

"Indeed! I believe you," sneered the groom, "both are on their last
legs."

"I am neither Perdreau nor Mascareau," observed the wounded man with a
smile.

Rousselet drew himself up at full height, with the dignity of a man of
talent who scorns to reply to either criticism or mistrust.

"Monsieur," said Gerfaut, turning to the Baron, "I am really causing you
too much trouble. This trifle does not merit the attention you give it.
I do not suffer in the least.