No one shall ever make me believe that he was wrong.
As to Annora, I believe she would rather have been a Huguenot
outright than one of us, and she only half trusted me for a long
time.
We had begun to settle down into regular habits; indeed, except for
the evenings, our days were almost more alike than when in the
country. I had gone, as Madame de Rambouillet had advised me, to
Father Vincent, and he introduced me to the excellent Madame
Goussault, who had the sweetest old face I ever saw. She made me a
member of the society for attending the poor in the Hotel Dieu, and
my regular days were set apart, twice a week, for waiting on the
sick. We all wore a uniform dress of dark stuff, with a white apron
and tight white cap, and, unless we were very intimate, were not
supposed to recognize one another.
There was good reason for this. At the next bed to that of my
patient there was a lady most tenderly, if a little awkwardly,
bathing a poor man's face with essences. Her plump form, beautiful
hands, and slightly Spanish accent, could only belong to one person,
I thought, but I could hardly believe it, and I turned my eyes away,
and tried the more diligently to teach my poor ignorant patient the
meaning of his Pater and Ave, when suddenly there was a burst of
scolding and imprecation from the other bed. The essence had gone
into the man's eye, and he, a great rough bucheron, was reviling the
awkwardness and meddling of ladies in no measured terms, while his
nurse stood helplessly wringing her white hands, imploring his
pardon, but quite unaware of what was to be done.
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