with an intention which wounded the doctor in all that he held most dear; but he could not suppress a smile at hearing himself called Chevalier by Savinien, and recognized in this exaggeration the audacity of lovers who never flinch before any ridicule.
“The order of Saint-Michel, to obtain which so many follies were formerly committed, has gone out, Monsieur le Vicomte,” replied the former royal physician, “as so many privileges have gone out! Nowadays it is only given to doctors and poor artists. Therefore kings have done well to combine it with that of Saint-Lazare, a saint who was, I believe, a poor devil restored to life by a miracle! On that score, the order of Saint-Michel and Saint-Lazare should be, for us, a symbol.”
After this reply, which was tinged with both mockery and dignity, silence reigned without anybody trying to break it, and it was becoming irksome, when someone knocked.
“Here is our dear curé,” said the old lady, rising, leaving Ursule alone, and advancing to meet the Abbé Chaperon, an honor she had shown to neither Ursule nor the doctor.
The old man smiled in looking alternately at his ward and Savinien. To complain of Madame de Portenduère’s manner or to take offence at it was a reef upon which a small-minded man would have run aground; but Minoret had learnt too much not to avoid it; he began to chat with the viscount of the danger Charles X. was running, after having
