talk to himself. "C H C l 3 — —," he was just saying, "that will do it," when there came a knocking at the door.
"Come in."
Irène entered, her hair down her back, flushed and out of breath from running. "Is this—is this the doctor?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle."
"Would you be kind enough to come at once to Monsieur Le Blanc's house?"
The pleasure he had had at seeing the pretty Irène disappeared at the name "Le Blanc." "Rebels," he muttered to himself. "Who is sick?"
"Mademoiselle."
"Very sick?"
"Yes, yes, indeed, she fainted at the Hôtel de Ville, as the soldiers were marching away."
"These and their like," he said beneath his breath, “have bereft me of everything, and yet I am to go among them like a ministering angel.” Then aloud, "Was it she who said, 'Kill the King'?" There was bitterness in his voice.
"I do not know, monsieur—doctor. She was calling aloud; but I do not know what she said."
