CHAPTER III.
HOW IT IS SOMETIMES DIFFICULT TO DISTINGUISH A DREAM FROM THE
REALITY.
Bussy had had time, before falling, to pass his handkerchief
under his shirt, and to buckle the belt of his sword over it,
so as to make a kind of bandage to the open wound whence the
blood flowed, but he had already lost blood enough to make him
faint. However, during his fainting fit, this is what Bussy saw,
or thought he saw. He found himself in a room with furniture of
carved wood, with a tapestry of figures, and a painted ceiling.
These figures, in all possible attitudes, holding flowers, carrying
arms, seemed to him to be stepping from the walls. Between the
two windows a portrait of a lady was hung. He, fixed to his bed,
lay regarding all this. All at once the lady of the portrait
seemed to move, and an adorable creature, clothed in a long white
robe, with fair hair falling over her shoulders, and with eyes
black as jet, with long lashes, and with a skin under which he
seemed to see the blood circulate, advanced toward the bed. This
woman was so beautiful, that Bussy made a violent effort to rise
and throw himself at her feet. But he seemed to be confined in
there by bonds like those which keep the dead body in the tomb,
while the soul mounts to the skies. This forced him to look at
the bed on which he was lying, and it seemed to him one of those
magnificent beds sculptured in the reign of Francis I., to which
were suspended hangings of white damask, embroidered in gold.
At the sight of this woman, the people of the wall and ceiling
ceased to occupy his attention; she was all to him, and he looked
to see if she had left a vacancy in the frame. But suddenly she
disappeared; and an opaque body interposed itself between her
and Bussy, moving slowly, and stretching its arms out as though
it were playing blindman's buff. Bussy felt in such a passion at
this, that, had he been able, he would certainly have attacked
this importunate vision; but as he made a vain effort, the newcomer
spoke:
"Well," said he, "have I arrived at last?"
"Yes, monsieur," said a voice so sweet that it thrilled through
Bussy, "and now you may take off your bandage." Bussy made an
effort to see if the sweet voice belonged to the lady of the
portrait, but it was useless. He only saw the pleasant face of a
young man, who had just, as he was told, taken off his bandage,
and was looking curiously about him.
"To the devil with this man," thought Bussy, and he tried to speak,
but fruitlessly.
"Ah, I understand now," said the young man, approaching the bed;
"you are wounded, are you not, my dear sir? Well, we will try
to cure you."
"Is the wound mortal?" asked the sweet voice again, with a sad
accent, which brought tears into the eyes of Bussy.
"I do not know yet, I am going to see; meanwhile, he has fainted."
This was all Bussy heard, he seemed to feel a red-hot iron in
his side, and then lost all consciousness. Afterwards, it was
impossible for Bussy to fix the duration of this insensibility.
When he woke, a cold wind blew over his face, and harsh voices
sounded in his ears; he opened his eyes to see if it were the
people of the tapestry speaking, and hoping to see the lady again,
looked round him. But there was neither tapestry nor ceiling
visible, and the portrait had also disappeared. He saw at his
right only a man with a white apron spotted with blood; at his
left, a monk, who was raising his head; and before him, an old
woman mumbling her prayers. His wondering eyes next rested on
a mass of stone before him, in which he recognized the Temple,
and above that, the cold white sky, slightly tinted by the rising
sun. He was in the street.
"Ah, thank you, good people," said he, "for the trouble you have
taken in bringing me here. I wanted air, but you might have given
it to me by opening the window, and I should have been better
on my bed of white damask and gold than on the bare ground. But
never mind, there is in my pocket, unless you have paid yourselves,
which would have been prudent, some twenty golden crowns; take,
my friends, take."
"But, my good gentleman," said the butcher, "we did not bring
you here, but found you here as we passed."
"Ah, diable! and the young doctor, was he here?"
The bystanders looked at each other.
"It is the remains of delirium," said the monk. Then, turning to
Bussy, "I think you would do well to confess," said he, "there
was no doctor, poor young man; you were here alone, and as cold
as death."
Bussy then remembered having received a sword stroke, glided his
hand under his doublet, and felt his handkerchief in the same
place, fixed over his wound by his sword-belt.
"It is singular," said he.
Already profiting by his permission, the lookers-on were dividing
his purse.
"Now, my friends," said he, "will you take me to my hôtel?"
"Ah, certainly," said the old woman, "poor dear young man, the
butcher is strong, and then he has his horse, on which you can
ride."
"Yes, my gentleman, my horse and I are at your service."
"Nevertheless, my son," said the monk, "I think you would do well
to confess."
"What are you called?" asked Bussy.
"Brother Gorenflot."
"Well Brother Gorenflot, I trust my hour has not yet arrived
and as I am cold, I wish to get quickly home and warm myself."
"What is your hotel called?"
"Hôtel de Bussy."
"How!" cried all, "you belong to M. de Bussy?"
"I am M. de Bussy himself."
"Bussy," cried the butcher, "the brave Bussy, the scourge of the
minions!" And raising him, he was quickly carried home, whilst
the monk went away, murmuring, "If it was that Bussy, I do not
wonder he would not confess!"
When he got home, Bussy sent for his usual doctor, who found the
wound not dangerous.
"Tell me," said Bussy, "has it not been already dressed?"
"Ma foi," said the doctor, "I am not sure."
"And was it serious enough to make me delirious?"
"Certainly."
"Ah!" thought Bussy, "was that tapestry, that frescoed ceiling,
that bed, the portrait between the windows, the beautiful blonde
woman with black eyes, the doctor blindfolded, was this all delirium?
Is nothing true but my combat? Where did I fight? Ah, yes, I
remember; near the Bastile, by the Rue St. Paul. I leaned against
a door, and it opened; I shut it--and then I remember no more.
Have I dreamed or not? And my horse! My horse must have been
found dead on the place. Doctor, pray call some one."
The doctor called a valet. Bussy inquired, and heard that the
animal, bleeding and mutilated, had dragged itself to the door
of the hotel, and had been found there.
"It must have been a dream," thought he again: "how should a
portrait come down from the wall and talk to a doctor with a
bandage on his eyes? I am a fool; and yet when I remember she
was so charming," and he began to describe her beauties, till
he cried out, "It is impossible it should have been a dream;
and yet I found myself in the street, and a monk kneeling by
me. Doctor," said he, "shall have to keep the house a fortnight
again for this scratch, as I did for the last?"
"We shall see; can you walk?"
"I seem to have quicksilver in my legs."
"Try."
Bussy jumped out of bed, and walked quickly round his room.
"That will do," said the doctor, "provided that you do not go
on horseback, or walk ten miles the first day."
"Capital! you are a doctor; however, I have seen another to-night.
Yes, I saw him, and if ever I meet him, I should know him."
"I advise you not to seek for him, monsieur; one has always a
little fever after a sword wound; you should know that, who have
had a dozen."
"Ah, mon Dieu!" cried Bussy, struck with a new idea, "did my
dream begin outside the door instead of inside? Was there no
more a staircase and a passage, than there was a bed with white
and gold damask, and a portrait? Perhaps those wretches, thinking
me dead, carried me to the Temple, to divert suspicion, should
any one have seen them hiding. Certainly, it must be so, and
I have dreamed the rest. Mon Dieu! if they have procured for
me this dream which torments me so, I swear to make an end of
them all."
"My dear seigneur," said the doctor, "if you wish to get well,
you must not agitate yourself thus."
"Except St. Luc," continued Bussy, without attending; "he acted
as a friend, and my first visit shall be to him."
"Not before five this evening."
"If you wish it; but, I assure you, it is not going out and seeing
people which will make me ill, but staying quietly at home."
"Well, it is possible; you are always a singular patient; act
as you please, only I recommend you not to get another wound
before this one is healed."
Bussy promised to do his best to avoid it, and, after dressing,
called for his litter to take him to the Hôtel Montmorency.
